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Shelf, 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


















































































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'4 












BOB DEAN; 

OR, 


OUR OTHER BOARDER.” 


BY 

Mrs. EMMA NELSON HOOD, 

OF AUSTIN, TEXAS. 


y- cdpvRiGHi^^- 

DEC 21 


JlS o. 


jam. A 


PHILADELPHIA: 


E. CLAXTON & COMPANY. 

AUSTIN, TEXAS: A. K. HAWKES. 

1 882. 




Copyright. 

EMMA NELSON HOOD. 

i 88 1. 


*■* 


-bAr 




J. FAGAN & SON, 

^ 0 8TEREOTYPERS, PHILAD’A. 

'u-o, 


TO 

DR. O. C. POPE, 

OF HOUSTON, TEXAS, 

THIS BOOK 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 

vii 




'■% * 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Days of the Republic 

. 

PAGE 

• 13 

CHAPTER II. 

A Point Carried 



CHAPTER III. 

The Result 


• 34 

CHAPTER IV. 

Some Prospects . . . . * . 


• 44 

CHAPTER V. 

Those Laughing Eyes 


• 57 

CHAPTER VI. 

“Our other Boarder” .... 

# 

. 63 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Gleam of Gold 



CHAPTER VIII. 

One Turn of a Gate on its Hinges. 


. go 


xx 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. PAGE 

Beatrice ioi 

CHAPTER X. 

Several Scenes 116 

CHAPTER XI. 

Buck McQuillan 130 

CHAPTER XII. 

“I Don’t Want You to Touch Me!” . . . .138 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Three Startling Revelations 144 

* CHAPTER XIV. 

Bob Dean in an Emergency 157 

CHAPTER XV. 

“That other Dr. Conway” 173 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Ten Thousand Dollars 180 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Bob Dean’s Mother 188 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

“We’ve Met Again, it Seems” 196 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Letter Received 206 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


CHAPTER XX. 

PAGE 

A Letter Read and Answered 214 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Getting to the Bottom of it 224 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Answer Received 231 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Ride in the Night 237 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Bee Springs and San Jacinto Day 247 

CHAPTER XXV. / 

“I wouldn’t Trust Him, but I would Love Him all 

the same” . . .261 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Cupid’s Darts, Pierced Hearts, and so forth . . 268 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

In the Light 277 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Two Pictures 285 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Some more Pictures and the Artist .... 300 

CHAPTER XXX. 


“Too Happy for Anything” 


. 318 


xii CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Hymeneal 328 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Shadows 339 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“Can You do such a Thing as to Trust, without 

Understanding?” 346 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Two Fortunes as Told by a Gypsy . . . -356 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Beatrice not Leone ........ 364 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“God Decrees our Loves as well as our Lives” . 372 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE DAYS OF THE REPUBLIC. 



EXAS has been neglected by romancers. The geese, 


X whose cackling saved the Roman city, became illustri- 
ous ; while the pigs, whose martyr death is said to have been 
the salvation of the young “Republic,” are unknown beyond 
her domain, and forgotten within its limit. 

Have you ever heard the story ? No ? Then I will tell it 
you in the language of one of her own early historians. 

“The independence of Texas had been acknowledged by 
the United States, England, and France, and M. de Saligny, 
the French Minister, was residing at Austin, and had erected 
near the city one of the finest residences then in Texas . . . 
and perhaps he might have remained but for an unfortunate 
difficulty between himself and Mr. Bullock, the principal 
hotel-keeper in the city. It appears that Mr. Bullock’s pigs 
were in the habit of running around M. de Saligny’s stable, 
and some of them were killed by one of the servants of the 
French Minister, whereupon Mr. Bullock whipped the ser- 
vant. The Minister got mad and called upon Mr. Bullock 
about the matter, who, not being entirely in a good humor, 
ordered him off the premises in language perhaps not the 
2 13 


14 


BOB DEAN. 


most polite. The Minister, feeling that France was insulted, 
called upon the President (Lamar), and demanded the im- 
mediate punishment of Mr. Bullock, which he declined to 
accede to, but turned him over to the civil authorities. This 
did not appease the anger of the Minister by any manner of 
means, and he conducted himself in such a manner as to 
induce the President to ask that he be recalled, which was 
done. This, apparently, was a small matter, but it produced 
great results. It prevented the Republic from obtaining 
what is commonly known as the French Loan, for which ne- 
gotiations were then pending, and had she been successful, 
would have been the ruin of the Young Republic.” 

In the year 1839, the little village of Waterloo, whose pop- 
ulation was represented by three families, was selected by the 
commissioners appointed for the purpose as the future capital 
of Texas. 

Situate on the bluff overlooking the blue, winding Colo- 
rado, whose limpid waters laugh in the glowing sunlight, the 
new city, Austin, sprang up apace. The census of January, 
1840, gave the population at eight hundred. 

Among the immigrants into this new world came Judge 
Robert Osgood Dean, from Philadelphia, a man of capital 
and of culture. He left his elegant home and circle of re- 
fined friends to seek health from the free zephyrs that fan the 
broad prairies of the West. But a brief enjoyment of the 
voluptuous climate will imbue with enthusiasm the man who 
visits the prairies in the hilarious springtime of the South. 
The rollicking wind, with its savor from the salt sea ; the 
broad acres of virgin sod, whose grassy billows are studded 
with the nodding “blue bonnets” of Buffalo clover (Trifo- 
lium Reflexum), where the pink and gold primroses vie with 
brilliant patches of “Spanish blanket” and wild verbenas; 


THE DAYS OF THE REPUBLIC. 


15 


the “cattle upon a thousand hills,” whose fat flanks attest the 
richness of their diet of mesquite; the herds of mustangs, 
not less free than the white clouds scudding overhead ; all 
these fill the heart of the traveller with an ecstatic wonder, 
and he resolves to make his home here while life lasts, and, 
fate willing, to decree his mortality be added to the generous 
soil, which gives him so rich a welcome. He writes home to 
his friends and tries to tell them what it is that intoxicates 
his senses, and he urges them, too, to come. 

And if, when a “hard” winter ensues, and leaden sky is 
dripping and prairie is brown and sodden ; when the live 
cattle and horses have sought the covert of the “bottom” 
thickets, and the numerous dead diversify the plains with 
their hideous carcasses ; when the grass is sere and the flowers 
forgotten — then if he grows disgusted and returns home de- 
claring that “Texas is overrated,” it will be only to return 
in the spring, finding it impossible to resist the impulse that 
draws him. 

Judge Dean, though past his youth, threw himself zealously 
into the spirit of the day. He unreservedly espoused the inter- 
ests of his adopted government, participated in the inaugural 
ceremonies of President Houston on his election, took a per- 
sonal part in the notorious Archive War, and assisted his fellow- 
citizens in repelling the frequent incursions of the Comanches, 
whose homes were in the cliffs and fastnesses of the Lampa- 
sas mountains, skirting the town on the north and east. 

A part of his large capital Judge Dean expended in pur- 
chasing the rich lands to be bought then for a mere song. 
Some of the most valuable business lots in the new city came 
into his possession ; but a goodly portion of his money he 
left invested securely in Philadelphia. While a successful 
man in his legal profession, he had always felt an antipathy 


i6 


BOB DEAN. 


to actual trade, and had for years contented himself with put- 
ting his money to work for him, instead of working with it. 
His life had not been a happy one. Married early to a beau- 
tiful woman, younger than himself in years, but older in 
worldly wisdom, his twenty months of connubial life had 
been potent to show him that man is born unto trouble. 
Then he buried his wife and shut his heart to womankind 
in maturity. But there was a wee piece of womanhood, his 
baby daughter, Annetta, who was very dear to him, and he 
intended to rear her to be noble and true. When a little girl 
she was weird and wise, and he laughed at her shrewdness, 
and was proud of her beauty. But when she grew up her 
wisdom was only cunning, her shrewdness duplicity, and in 
view of this her father deplored the fatal beauty that gave her 
power. 

Two years ago he bad given her to one he named “ good,” 
and when Robert Dean said that of a man it embodied most 
of the noble qualities of manhood. Col. Chapin, his daugh- 
ter’s husband, had his full confidence and friendship. He 
hoped Annetta would be dutiful and make him happy, and 
he sighed to think how perilous a thing it is for a good man 
to give his life’s happiness into the keeping of a woman. 

About this time his health, never robust, began to yield 
under the strain of business and worry, and his physician 
advised a change for him. So he made ready to go to Texas, 
then the traveller’s novelty, but before he could get off he was 
stricken down with nervous prostration, and for months he 
was a weary, fretful prisoner in his sick chamber. One day, 
when he was utterly despondent, the good doctor brought to 
see him his young daughter. “To cheer you, you know, sir. 
You are blue. Esther is used to sick people, and she will 
brighten you up.” 


A POINT CARRIED. 


17 


He could never remember how it was, but if a veritable 
angel from heaven had winged her way into his dreary room, 
the effect could not have been enhanced. She did cheer 
him. Cheered him until he was well again, and then he 
could not do without the sunshine of her presence. He 
knew she, too, was good, and he loved her and told his love. 
She confessed that he had her heart in return, but she would 
not then give her hand with it. He must go away a year, 
and see if he did change his mind. So he came to Texas. 


CHAPTER II. 


A POINT CARRIED. 


UDGE DEAN did not change his mind. Ere the “ Lone 



Star ” had added her rays to Uncle Sam’s galaxy, he had 


gone home for -his bride and returned to Austin. Col. 
and Mrs. Chapin, and several other friends came with them, 
enticed by the stories of wealth, health, and happiness to be 
attained here. 

On the north-west corner of Pecan and Lavacca there stands 
an old two-story house, built of brick and painted red. With- 
out the appurtenances of modern architecture, it now looks 
so uninteresting it would hardly occur to you that within its 
bleak walls young love dreams had been cherished, or a 
hero of romance born. But at this time it was one of the 
“palatial residences” which the “Austin City Gazette” and 
“Sentinel” boasted were “being erected in our rising city 
of the West.” And here Judge Dean prepared for his bride 
a home of ease and as much elegance as the limited facilities 
2* • B 


i8 


BOB DEAN. 


of the day permitted, when freights were hauled overland in 
ox-wagons from Houston, Matagorda, or from Mexico, incur- 
ring the risks of weather and Indian depredations. 

Col. Chapin had a home for his family not far from his 
father-in-law, and on East Pecan Street was the flourishing 
banking house of “Chapin & Co.,” the Co. representing 
Judge Dean and his Philadelphia capital, withdrawn and 
invested here, where his son-in-law was sure it would realize 
“ millions.” With his usual antipathy to trade, he took little 
active interest in the business, but in a great measure gave 
himself up to the enjoyment of his home, a pleasure unknown 
in the past, but now fully realized in the devotion of his 
young wife. 

After fifteen years we look again into their lives, years 
eventful to the young State, but placid to our friend. Chapin 
& Co., bankers and brokers, have realized, if not millions, a 
princely fortune. The population of Austin has increased to 
about eight thousand, the State is free from debt, handsome 
public buildings erected, and trade brisk. But in the near 
future is gathering a cloud. In i860 the country begins to 
feel the throes of the gigantic struggle approaching so near. 
The financial strength of trade is thrilled to its centre, and 
some imprudent and weak houses have already gone to pieces. 
Chapin & Co. have traded largely of late, and it is unreason- 
able that the public should think they can afford to steadily 
pay out gold to be hoarded up, buried perhaps, until times 
are quieter. 

Col. Chapin says so, as he stands in his office this January 
day. 

It is past four o’clock, and business is closed when the 
partners hold their council. Col. Chapin is a fleshy man, 
well past forty, said by his friends to be a fine-looking gentle- 


A POINT CARRIED. 


*9 


man. He has not any top hair to speak of, but his very 
black beard is full and lengthy ; soft, sallow skin, and black 
eyes, sharp but bilious. His dress is rich, and a big brilliant 
flashes on the least finger of the fat, yellow hand, which habit- 
ually toys’ with the fox-head charm pending from his massive 
watch-chain. 

Judge Dean contrasts him in a marked degree. Seated in 
his office chair, contemplating the wood fire which burns in 
the open fire-place, he is a benevolent-looking elderly gentle- 
man. With clean, snow-white hair, brushed straight back 
from a broad, kindly brow, face pale, but not wrinkled or 
careworn, we would say that the fifteen years of domestic 
bliss had robbed Time of his spoils. 

But this afternoon he is annoyed, and there is an unwonted 
petulance in the tone that replies to a remark just made by his 
partner. 

‘‘But, Chapin, I don’t see how in justice we can do any- 
thing else. We have taken their money, and our paper is 
out. If they bring it back, demanding their gold, they must 
have it !” 

“ But they can’t get it, I tell you, Judge. On day after 
to-morrow our note for that cotton purchase over at Bastrop 
falls due — thirty-five hundred dollars it is. If the shipment 
reached New Orleans when it ought to have done so it brought 
a good price, and we will get the money back with a nice mar- 
gin next week ; but if this pressure keeps up we will go under 
before it gets here.” 

He paused to munch his beard which he put between his 
teeth, always with the jewelled hand. 

“ Cordina & DeLeon,” he continued, “ want to get seven- 
teen thousand dollars in the morning, and they offer fourteen 
per cent, for it and good security — a mortgage on the Van 


20 


BOB DEAN. 


Dusen ranche lying a few miles this side of San Antonio. I 
know the property and know their papers. They have a 
good and sufficient lien on the entire ranche, stock and inter- 
est. ’T will be a first-rate investment for us, because they 
would rather turn over the property to us and keep the 
money, which Cordina wants to invest. Beef will command 
a good price this year, and the drive will cover the note, 
without touching the stock cattle or ranche." 

He chews his black beard and tightens his lips into a grin, 
a peculiar habit of his when preoccupied. Judge Dean an- 
swers : 

“But we cannot spare the seventeen thousand ; it will be as 
much as we can do to weather the storm as it is, unless I sac- 
rifice my real estate," and, rising, he mended the fire with 
the tongs, and, turning his back to it, looked with kind eyes 
at the Colonel, who grinned again before answering, with 
some hesitation. 

“We can’t, if we keep on paying out at the rate we’ve 
.been doing to-day. But — ’’ he paused to chew and grin, 
“ but we might let Cordina have the money to-morrow, and 
then stop payment a few days until we could get on our legs 
again. ’T would perhaps do no one any real harm. These 
fools are only crazy about their gold — they will all be bring, 
ing it back in a month." 

“ Not to us, if we were to follow your policy. It is theirs, 
Chapin, and they have a right to it when they call for it. It 
would be dishonorable in us to divert the capital of the house 
to other channels, instead of paying our just debts." 

Judge Dean has lost his patience, and puts on his overcoat 
with unseemly haste. The sleeve is not well managed, and 
proves refractory. Colonel Chapin comes courteously to his 
assistance, and draws the garment snugly into place, while he 
answers, — 


A POINT CARRIED. 


21 


“ Dishonorable is a hard word, Judge. It is no more than 
all business houses do under pressure. Our creditors ought 
to have some consideration about them. Come, you think 
it over to-night at home, Judge, and come down early in 
the morning, so we can have another talk before business 
hours. ’ * 

He handed the Senior his soft black hat and his cane, and 
let him out at the door, laying his hand soothingly on his 
shoulder as they parted. 

Judge Dean walked slowly homeward, stopped frequently 
on his way by the greeting of friends, for all loved and hon- 
ored the upright citizen. At his own gate he was accosted in 
childish tones with — 

“ Oh, father ! father ! just see ! I ’ve been waiting to show 
you what I ’ve got. It is one of old Speck’s chickens ! When 
Aunt Sukie went to shut ’em tip in the coop the door fell and 
hurt this little fellow. See ! he can’t stand up ! ” 

The Judge stooped down to kiss his boy, a bright, manly 
lad of nine years, his pride, and only offspring of his last 
marriage. 

“ P5t him down, Bob, and let ’s see. No, he will never 
walk again ; but don’t hurt him, son.” 

“ Oh, no ! I wouldn’t hurt him for anything. And he was 
such a s??iart chicken. I was noticing yesterday that he was 
the first always to get what the old hen found for them. I 
picked him out for my favorite and named him Pluck.” 

“He doesn’t look plucky now. Come, let us go in and 
find mother.” 

“Yes, dinner is waiting, and she has only just left the 
door. She has been looking for you.” 

An hour afterwards the lamps are lighted in the family 
room, and father and mother are having a cosy talk by the 


22 


BOB DEAN. 


fire while the boy is doing something with his wounded 
chicken on the floor near the table, and meanwhile giving 
half heed to the conversation. 

“ Their talk can’t be very nice,” he is thinking, “ for 
father stands up with his back to the fire instead of resting 
in the easy-chair I bought for him Christmas with my own 
money ; and mother has laid down her crochet work, and 
looks at him, and talks a good deal. It is about the business 
and brother Irwin they are talking — but I wish I had a knife 
that would cut ; this one won’t. My matches break before I 
can split them. I wish I had some nice splints like Dr. Mar- 
tin had, but I guess I can make these do.” Aloud now — 
“ Please, father, will you lend me your knife a little while? ” 
“ What are you doing, Bob ? ” 

“ Oh, I ’m going to mend my chicken’s leg.” 

“ Mend it ! how, my son ? ” 

“ Why, I ’ll just cut these matches right thin, and hold the 
leg straight, and with a little strip of this linen cloth bind 
them tight around it — don’t you see? ” and he leaped to his 
feet and ran eagerly to show his plan, which he demonstrated 
on the forefinger of his left hand. 

Judge Dean and his wife exchanged smiles as the boy re- 
turned to his work, having obtained the knife he coveted. 

“ Did he ever see anything of the kind done, mother? ” 
The boy spoke quickly — “Oh, yes, father — excuse me for 
answering, mother— but last week when Charley Froude fell 
from the acting pole at Mr. Smith’s school and broke his arm, 
they took him home, and he wanted me to go with him to 
carry his books and marbles ; and Dr. Martin took some thin 
pieces of wood and fixed his arm up like I tell you. Oh, 
mother ! when I get to be a man, I mean to be a surgeon — 
that is what they call a doctor who mends bones,” — and the 


A POINT CARRIED. 23 

little fellow drew a deep breath of satisfaction at the 
thought. 

The parents smiled again and went on with their talk, little 
dreaming he had indeed marked out his future. 

A tap at the door, announcing callers ; but it is only Colonel 
and Mrs. Chapin, who enter as privileged characters. 

I have said that Mrs. Chapin was a beautiful woman, and 
when the adjective has been extended to its most superlative 
degree, it has not been made too strong to express her charms, 
chiefest among which is her voice. Language can hardly 
convey the smooth, thrilling cadences, as her words flow with 
the intonation of silver bells. Every word that falls from 
her scarlet lips is as pure and clear cut as a dew-drop in the 
morning sunlight. 

“Good-evening, papa! how do you feel now? Colonel 
tells me you complained to-day of not enjoying your wonted 
health. Better? I am rejoiced to hear it, and to believe 
that your indisposition was only temporary, perhaps induced 
by your intense solicitude to do your duty to that Juggernaut 
business. ’Tis a pity that one with your literary taste and 
aesthetic culture, fitted to grace society in its highest niche, 
should ever need to soil his hands with the dealings of ordi- 
nary mortals. Nay, you need not disclaim ; you know it is 
but true, Esther ; you need not to assure me you are well, for 
naught but perfect health could keep you so fresh — so sweet.” 

All this said standing, with a hand of each held in her own 
soft, white ones — so soft and white, one is irresistibly re- 
minded of the paws of a pussy cat. But now she turns to 
little Bob, who stands impatiently waiting, too well trained 
to interrupt. 

“ And dear little brother, how are you ? You have not been 
to see my Paul since so long a time. You ought to come 


24 


BOB DEAN. 


oftener, for he is never so good as when he has been with you, 
you perfect little paragon!” and she pats his chubby cheek 
with her — I had like to have said — paw; but she did not see 
that he wanted to kiss her, for he was fond of his beautiful 
lady sister; but Mrs. Chapin rarely kissed any one: those 
perfect lips she kept sacred; ’twas only her paws she used on 
other people. Perhaps the weird faith of the Hindoo fire- 
worshipper, that the soul of man is in his breath, had uncon- 
sciously possessed her, and she feared its true nature, like 
alcohol, could be detected by inhalation. 

She now seats herself in the luxurious chair which Bob had 
wheeled in from the parlor for her, and she might be a queen 
enthroned, for looks. 

“ Why didn’t you bring the children, Annetta?” asked her 
father. 

“Oh! my little ones were all naughty this afternoon — all 
but baby Maude, who would, doubtless, also have come under 
condemnation, had she been strong enough to leave her cradle 
to tread on forbidden ground. Do you know, papa, I am 
becoming a firm believer in your doctrine of total depravity,” 
and she folded her hands over her lace-covered breast with 
the air of a martyr. 

“ Pray, what did the little ones do to bring down on their 
heads such condemnation?” 

“ I will tell you. I had only just finished having them 
arrayed in their nicest clothes, for I was going to drive to 
the cemetery with them, and intended to call at the mansion 
on my return — you know the Governor has small children — 
and Paul and Florine wished to have them at their party next 
week. I had them beautifully attired, when a lady called, and 
I descended to the parlor, after repeated injunctions that they 
should remain in the nursery, and on no account soil their 


A POINT CARRIED. 


25 


apparel. After my visitor had departed, and I found leisure 
to look after my olive branches — where do you suppose I 
found them?” 

A prophetic pause, which her auditors understood must not 
be interrupted, and the remainder of the incident related 
much as a judge of a criminal court might pronounce sentence 
of death on the condemned. 

“I found them in the back yard at the chopping-block, 
where Mam Judy was cleaning a great fish; Paul, with a blunt 
knife, scraping lustily; Florine stringing the scales on thread 
for necklaces, with which to adorn Lola’s throat, over her blue 
silk dress ; Gustav had procured an old tincup, and was bring- 
ing water from the well to pour over the disgusting thing.” 

The fatal story of Mountain Meadow massacre could not 
have been recited with more thrilling horror. 

“Ha! ha! ha! now they were having a good time, I say. ' 
I don’t see how you could find it in your heart to spoil their 
pleasure,” said Judge Dean, while his wife and Colonel Chapin 
smiled, and Bob’s wide, merry eyes attested his enjoyment of 
the scenes presented to his mind. 

“Papa, how can you say so?” — Impressively — “Though 
’t was only four o’clock, I banished them to their respective 
couches in punishment, and remanded the privilege I had 
given Mam Judy to go across the river on Sunday to visit her 
daughter, who is wedded to a jetty Adonis on the Ethridge 
place. She should not have encouraged my children in their 
disobedience. When I chid her, her only excuse was that ‘ It 
look like they was injying theyselves so, an’ I done pin my 
handcher ober Miss Flo’s dress, an’ Mas Gus got on my check 
apun.’ I threatened the children that they should forego the 
pleasure of their party, but I scarcely think I shall adhere to 
that, for some invitations have been extended.” 

3 


26 


BOB DEAN. 


“Yes, and I say you are wrong to tell them so; they know 
you will let them have it,” interposed her husband, hitherto 
silent. 

“I would not punish the little things too severely,” softly 
plead Mrs. Dean. 

“But, Esther, if I do not cause them sorely to feel the 
penalty of disobedience, how shall I hope to rear my off- 
spring to be law-abiding citizens ? ” 

The stern Martin Luther never propounded a more unan- 
swerable “stunner.” 

“ But, sister,” timidly interposed Bob, “ you don’t always 
punish them when they do what you tell them not to.” 

“ How do you know, little man ?” 

“The other day you gave Paul a dollar and a half to pay 
the milkman with, and he took it and bought Tommie Mur- 
rains set of chessmen and board. I asked him yesterday what 
you did to him for it, and he said 1 nothing,’ and that his 
papa had said the set was well worth three dollars.” 

An awkward pause, then Mrs. Dean said, “ You must go to 
bed now, son. Tell sister, and brother, and father, good- 
night.” 

“ Oh, mother, I forgot ! You said the other day that I 
must not talk much when old folks were present ; that is the 
reason I must go to bed now. I bet I don’t forget again. 
Good-night, everybody. I must get my poor little chicken ; 
his eyes are shut and I am afraid he feels sick ; I ought to 
have finished fixing his leg instead of — ” Leaving his sen- 
tence incomplete, he bowed himself out at the door, holding 
his cheeping pet under his soft chubby chin. He felt he was 
being banished, but was of too stout spirit to make a display 
of his disappointment. 

“Children propound knotty problems, which put to severe 


A POINT CARRIED. 


2 7 


test the skill of philosophers,” sententiously observed Mrs. 
Chapin. “I should have pointed out to my little boy the 
impropriety of his conduct ; but truly, I could not bear to 
mar his delight in his new-found treasure. It really was a 
beautiful set of chessmen, and I believe the toys will prove 
of material benefit to his mental development. The close 
attention* necessary to a successful issue in the game cannot 
but be conducive to the growth of the powers of observation 
and calculation. Designing, as we do, to educate him for 
the army, this is a point unwise to ignore.” 

Was the subject under discussion moral discipline or the 
merits of a game of chess ? Mrs. Chapin seems to have 
forgotten, but her stepmother brought back the wandering 
theme. 

“ But, if you will excuse me, dear Nettie, I will say that I 
think you are very wrong in allowing such a breach of good 
faith to go unrebuked. How can you tell when he will be 
able to draw a line between his own property and another’s 
unless you teach him now? ” 

“ But this was only a paltry hundred and fifty cents, and 
he knew I would have given it to him for himself had he 
asked.” 

“But he did not ask, and it was not his; nor should there 
be any difference in the principle of handling one hundred 
and fifty cents and as many dollars or thousands of dollars. 
I think, often, the very failure to make honest men of our 
boys, which you were just deploring, originates in our confus- 
ing their minds as to which are the cardinal virtues. Fre- 
quently a child is uncertain which is the greater crime, to 
tear his pantaloons or to tell a lie — he knows he is liable to 
receive reproof or punishment for either alike. In attempt- 
ing to force the observance of all the commandments, we fail 


28 


BOB DEAN. 


to make him understand which are the weightier matters of 
the law, and which are only mint, anise, and cummin.’ ’ 

“Your theory is very unique, Esther; but unless we are 
willing to have our offspring grow up savages — ” 

“ Have you read the Governor’s message, Judge?” inter- 
rupted Colonel Chapin. His wife, unaccustomed to having 
the euphonious flow of her periods broken* turned to him in 
surprise and met a glance from his eyes, the significance of 
which she probably understood, for she folded her hands, 
leaned back in her chair and looked beautiful. 

“ I did not read the message myself, but my wife read it, 
and gave me the points of it,” answered Judge Dean. 

“What do you think of his Mexican policy?” 

“About the protectorate? I think it merely a blind to 
divert attention from the more troublesome questions at 
home.” 

“ The accounts of these incendiary fires throughout the 
State are most shocking,” said Mrs. Chapin, shuddering. 

“They are indeed; mysterious, too,” assented her father. 

“ One cannot repose in peace for the dread apprehension 
of having one’s slumbers rudely broken by the shrill alarm of 
fire rung aloud on the still air of night, being aroused to find 
all you hold dear in the greedy grasp of the pitiless destroyer.” 
She covers her eyes with the beautiful hands as if to shut out 
the scene. 

“ The Indian outrages on’ the border are not less horrible,” 
said Mrs. Dean. 

“No; and add to these the depredations of Cortina and 
his desperadoes on the Rio Grande, and our State seems to be 
in a deplorable condition,” added Judge Dean. 

“ Besides being in constant fear that the negroes will rise 
in insurrection to take the lives of those they constantly serve. 


A POINT CARRIED. 2g 

Really, I never know when I eat or drink but l am taking my 
last fatal potion,” lamented Mrs. C. 

“I think your alarm on that score is groundless,” said her 
father. “ I feel sure I have not a slave in my possession who 
would harm me or mine, and if threatened by danger I ’d 
sooner call on them for succor than on many of my own color 
around me.” 

“That may be true of your negroes,” replied Colonel 
Chapin, “ while the rule would not hold good where masters 
are less kind and just than you. And, I would not depend 
too far on yours, for human nature is proverbially ungrate- 
ful ; besides, the creatures are but the tools of abolitionary 
emissaries among them, inciting them to deeds of violence 
they would not dare attempt if left to their own timid im- 
pulses. A fellow was hung to a live-oak down at Lockhart 
the other day by nobody knows whom, but it is believed he 
was one of that ilk.” 

“Dear, dear, what is to become of us, papa? hardly our 
persons are safe, to make no mention of our property.” The 
quavering appeal in Mrs. Chapin’s voice was piteous. 

Esther Dean spoke softly — “ In God is my refuge and my 
glory. The rock of my strength and my refuge is in God. 
Trust in Him at all times: ye people pour out your heart be- 
fore Him. God is a refuge for us.” Her husband laid his 
hand on her arm in a mute caress of appreciation and in- 
dorsement; but Mrs. Chapin answered: — 

“ That is very well for our souls, and perhaps it may even 
include our perishing bodies, but it is no security for our filthy 
lucre. I confess my chief solicitude is about my property, 
endangered by these perilous times.” 

“Now, Mrs. Dean, can you not give my mercenary wife 
another Scripture about 4 being old and once young, and 
3 * 


30 


BOB DEAN. 


never seeing the righteous forsaken or his seed begging 
bread?’ ” laughingly said Colonel Chapin. 

“But,” interposed his wife, “ I do not profess to be satis- 
fied with bread, and I fervently hope never to realize a hint 
of want.” 

Then ensued one of those lengthened, significant pauses, 
which sometimes occur when it is felt that a deeper matter 
lies behind the words spoken, and that those words, though 
interesting enough in themselves, are mere blazes on the path 
which leads into the broader road of plain speaking. Finally 
Colonel Chapin lunges into the main road. 

“ Have you talked with your wife about the matter I men- 
tioned to you this afternoon, Judge?” 

“Yes.” 

Faces cloud. 

“Well?” 

“ Esther thinks as I do about it. ’T would be unjust to 
divert our capital from its legitimate channel. Those who 
have deposited their money with us are, many of them, poor ; 
some of them are women who have sewed, have kept board- 
ers, have taught children for it ; if we withhold it from them 
when they demand it, even for a week, it may involve them 
in serious difficulty, if not in pecuniary trouble. The mental 
anxiety, the loss of confidence in human nature and the over- 
ruling care of kind Providence ; the souring and saddening 
of heart ; the stirred tumult of angry passions in the breast 
of my fellow-creatures which would result from such a step, 
I am not willing as a Christian man to be responsible for at 
the bar of a just God, who loves the poor and condemns 
the usurer.” 

The Judge’s fine face was grand now, as he laid a strong, 
well-knit hand on either knee, and turned again to the fire. 


A POINT CARRIED. 


31 


“But, papa, the injustice would only be seeming; and we 
cannot be held responsible, in the sight of Heaven, for wrongs 
that we only seem to have created.” 

“ The wrong would not be seeming. The present only is 
in our hands. If we suspend to-morrow, we cannot know 
when we can resume, for our dependence is upon money 
coming in, which may be interrupted on its way to our hands 
in the same manner. Somebody who owes us may suspend, 
too; we are all rows of bricks, set up one against another. 
Besides, if it were only wrong in appearance, I shall never 
consent to go, open-eyed, into a thing that seems to be 
wrong.” 

“ Still, papa, does not your duty to your family require you 
to look to their interest, too? Talking of Christianity” — Mrs. 
Chapin is too much in earnest now to give heed to the 
euphony of her periods — “the very Bible you are fond of 
exalting, says that a man who provides not for his own family 
is worse than an infidel, or something to that effect.” 

Her father smiled as he answered — “ Edward Garrett has 
fitly said, * If a right thing is to be done, and we seem to have 
to pass through a wrong thing on our way to it, depend upon it 
there ’s another way, and a better way, and it ’s our fault, and 
not God’s, that we do not find it.’ ” 

Silence again. Colonel Chapin stretches his lips and finally 
says: “Well, you may be right, Judge, as you generally are 
upon questions of equity. Still, I regret very much not to be 
able to get the handling of that Cordina lien on the ranche. 
It certainly promises to be one of the best hits in trade that 
has come our way lately, or is likely to again, soon. For if 
we get run down in this panic, capitalists will give us the 
go-by, and take their speculations to houses less scrupulous 
than we, but wiser in their generation.” 


32 


BOB DEAN. 


Judge Dean, with clouded brow, studies the fire. 

His partner tries again. “ If we could, by any means, get 
that into our hands, why, ’t would give us a rise, and draw 
attention to our business enterprise, just about the right time. 
I believe we can go through without an actual break, for our 
collaterals are sound, and we could raise some money on their 
strength. There is no doubt about the value of the property 
offered as security for this Cordina loan, and the beef will be 
in market by the fifteenth of April or first of May. The drive 
of marketable beef last year brought nineteen thousand seven 
hundred dollars. I have inquired carefully into the figures. 
There will be more and better meat this year ; we are perfectly 
safe in estimating it at twenty thousand.” 

“ Then, if so valuable, why has Van Dusen suffered it to be 
covered by a mortgage for seventeen thousand ? ’ ’ 

“ It was a gambling debt — sort of an affair of honor. But 
the mortgage calls for twenty-five thousand, and covers 
property worth fifty. . It is Cordina that offers it for seven- 
teen, because he is compelled to have that amount of money 
right now, and the claim does not mature for three months. 
But he must have it to-morrow.” 

The Judge rising, stands with his back to the fire, stroking 
his chin, and thinking. He looks down at his wife, but she 
is crocheting, and does not see. 

“Well, Colonel, if you think it so good a trade, I can 
raise the required amount in the city here, and secure it on 
my unincumbered real estate.” 

An ominous pause, while some brains work and pulses beat 
like trip-hammers. The dilated pupils of Annetta’s eyes, half 
hidden by drooping lids, glint with a feline light. Colonel 
Chapin hardly breathes as he answers quietly, not eagerly : 

“Yes, that can be done; G. G. Morgan would let us have 


A POINT CARRIED. 


33 


it at twelve per cent, for six months, on good security. There 
would be no risk ; for, beside the mortgage maturing, there 
are half a dozen other sources from which we will have the 
money in six months.” 

“Well, then,” the Judge speaks easily, as though relieved 
of a burden, “ I don’t see anything to hinder the trade being, 
made in the morning. As you say, it will do our house good 
to be taking in cash heavily a few months from now. I will 
come down town at eight in the morning, and we will get the 
papers fixed up. There is little good in having Texas land 
if you can’t trade with it.” 

“ I expect you will have to put in the city lots and improve- 
ments, too,” cautiously suggested Colonel Chapin. 

“That’s all right. It doesn’t matter to me. Anything, 
except our home ; that is Esther’s, and shall never be touched 
by any business transaction.” 

“You are right ; and there is no need for it in this instance. 
Well, Judge, I think you will be glad of this six months hence. 
Come, Annetta, it is ten o’clock; let us go,” and he slapped 
the knees of his black cloth pants, and stretched his legs as 
with satisfaction. 

“ How the hours slip by ! Papa, with his sound reasoning, 
and Esther’s pure morality give Mercury’s silver sandals to 
Father Time, and we are beguiled into utter ignorance of his 
flight.” She gathers her wraps about her, makes her loving, 
graceful adieus, and they are gone. 

Judge Dean and his wife discuss the point of business a 
little, then, banishing it from their minds, commit their way 
unto Heaven, and rest in peace, unconscious that Fate had 
even now mixed her darkest pigment with which to dash the 
canvas of their lives. 

C 


34 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE RESULT. 

“ Oh, when strong natures into frailer ones 
Have struck deep root, if one exalt not both, 

Both must drag down and perish.” 

M AN is made for disappointment. Next morning, Judge 
Dean, instead of going to his business earlier than 
usual, was unable to leave his bed, for he was seriously ill. 
He sent Bob with a note to his partner, who responded im- 
mediately in person, and was admitted to the sick man’s 
chamber, where he found the sufferer in much pain, and very 
impatient of the necessary confinement imposed on him. 

“ Colonel, you will have to get the mortgage written out, 
and bring it for my signature. Oh, dear, dear ! Esther, look 
in my cabinet, in the left hand drawer at the top, and give 
me the bundle of deeds. Ah, me!” 

“ You seem to be in great pain, Judge. What is the trou- 
ble do you think? ” 

“ Pain in my chest and side, fever too, headache, back- 
ache, boneache— that ’s it, wife. Colonel, look them over ; 
I can’t. The Bell Co. tract? yes. Are the field notes there? 
all right. Now, the city lots — yes— ah, me! I wish you 
would stop on your way down and send the doctor up. 
You ’ll be back soon ? ” 

The necessary papers were written without delay; but 
Colonel Chapin went to his office before returning to his 
father-in-law ; he wanted to see how matters were going at 
the bank. Bad enough to judge from the anxious faces of 
the people who dropped in every few moments with their 


THE RESULT. 


35 


credit books to draw out their deposits; some making excuse 
of bad luck or debts to pay ; some boldly announcing that 
they intended to keep what they had themselves until times 
were more settled. 

Colonel Chapin did not go into the outer office, but watched 
the comers and goers from his private room, while he tried to 
collect his thoughts, and prepare some expedient for the pos- 
sible emergency of the cash on hand not holding out to meet 
the demand. 

“Judge Dean’s honest policy will come near ruining us, 
I ’m afraid ; anyway, I ’m glad I got his consent to this trade. 
If I could get the whole affair in my own hands, as Annetta 
suggests” — he chews his beard and deliberates with deep 
wrinkles between his eyes — “I might — hum — it wouldn’t 
look just fair, but I would see him righted in the end. The 
old man is going to have a tight pull to go through this spell 
— it looks like inflammation of the lungs. If he should die 
I would n’t be surprised we broke flat; then ’t would be a 
good thing to have something outside the firm capital. I 
could handle the business better in my own name, and really 
do more for him and his; for I have his true interest at 
heart, certainly ; but he is getting old and timid. — What 
will you have, Romer?” this to his cashier, who waited to 
speak. 

“ Colonel, there is a man here who wants to draw out four 
thousand dollars immediately. He is a cattle dealer, and his 
money has been here about two months.” Speaking low, he 
continued, “I’m afraid we haven’t got it, but did n’t tell 
him so. I asked if he could wait for part of it until to- 
morrow, and he swore and said he must have it all ‘spot 
cash.’ ” 

“ I ’ll go in and see him,” said the banker. Entering the 


36 


BOB DEAN. 


outer office he found a fierce-looking Texan, whose dusty hair 
floating far down over his shoulders, buckskin “overalls” 
and gauntlets, Mexican “sombrera,” and jingling spurs, as 
well as the “six-shooters ” stuck in his leathern belt, bespoke 
the cattle ranchero, as plainly as did the dare-devil self- 
esteem flashing from beneath the shaggy brows. 

“See here, sir!” he called, as soon as Colonel Chapin 
appeared, “I want my money. Yo’ fellah there wants to 
make me wait till to-morrer, but they ain’t no wait in my 
craw. I ’m a hair-trigger man, I am, and I want my money. 
Hands got to be paid to-night — they are waiting here, and 
haven’t had half a drink apiece yet. Kin I git it ? ” 

This was not really a question, though in the form of one, 
but was rather said as one pugilistic lad might ask another, 
“ Do you take it. back ? ” when he knows he will take a sound 
thrashing first. 

Colonel Chapin answered quietly and politely : “ There has 
been a good deal of uneasiness in business circles for the last 
two days, and we have paid out large sums of money. Our 
stock is low this morning. We are looking for a heavy draft 
by the three o’clock mail, and if you will call again at three- 
thirty you can have your whole amount. ’ ’ This was a ven- 
turesome statement, but anything to gain time. 

“Well, if I git it this evenin’ it ’ll do; but if I don’t, 
’twont be healthy in here,” and dragging h'is jingling spurs 
on the floor he strode out. 

Colonel Chapin turned to enter his private office again. 

“ Colonel, I wish you could stay in here to-day. People 
are getting troublesome, and they have more confidence if 
they can see the ‘ boss ’ himself. ’ ’ 

“ I ’ll be in after a little, Romer.” 

When he reached his desk he found his wife seated there 


THE RESULT. 


37 


reading over the deeds and mortgages. A low-toned, earnest 
conversation ensued between them, in which the woman 
seemed to take the lead, her husband looking puzzled and 
reluctant. Finally they leave the office together. In an 
hour he returns to find Messrs. Cordina and De Leon await- 
ing him. Their mutual business is soon transacted and the 
borrowers depart. 

The vicinity of the post-office is crowded, densely packed at 
three o’clock. As it is always a place of resort at mail-time, 
this fact is not worthy of special note. But to-day there is a 
craving eagerness in the faces of men awaiting the opening 
of the delivery-doors. Those who have lock-boxes take out 
their matter, many opening and reading their letters as they 
move out. 

Standing a little apart from the thickest of the crowd is the 
“ranchero” creditor of Chapin & Co., with hands in his 
pockets. His chief employment seems to be to drag the 
silver rowel of his left spur over the dirty floor, and listen to 
the music of its jingle ; but in reality he is giving close heed 
to the talk of two loungers near him. Lounger number one 
is a true specimen of the genus — nothing but a lounger — one 
of those ubiquitous creatures who knows everybody and his 
business. Number two is a gossipy tradesman, who really 
expects letters, but has no objection to hearing the town 
news while he waits. 

Number One — “That is Romer, Chapin & Dean’s cash- 
ier; he is in a hurry; oh, yes, he ’ll get his right away; lock 
box.” 

They watch him open his box and take out letters and 
papers, a good many too. He glances over them and passes 
out. 


4 


33 


BOB DEAN. 


Number Two — “That firm does a heavy business. I con- 
sider them the solidest house in town. I always deposit with 
them when I have anything in hand. Both clever men.” 

Ranchero stops dragging his spur and listens, while his face 
clears. 

Number One — “ They are having a tight pull now, though. 
They ’ve done nothing for three days but pay out. Times are 
so skeery.” 

Number Two — “Yes; but they will pull through, won’t 
they?” 

Number One — “Don’t know so well about it. I don’t 
think that fellow got the letters he wanted just now. He 
looked sorter pale about the gills, I thought. Understand 
Chapin got a pile of money from Morgan to-day; and Sowf- 
sky, clerk in the Recorder’s office, told my wife at dinner — 
you know he boards at our house — that Dean had given a 
mortgage on a lot of real estate, and Chapin was in an awful 
swivet to have it recorded to-day; said it had to be done 
before business hours closed. Don’t exactly see through it; 
but there’s bound to be a hitch somewhere when the old 
Judge ties up his real estate. Whatever it is, he takes it 
pretty hard ; I hear he ’s gone to bed over it. It will come 
out though, and we shall see.” 

Number Two — “Indeed! I hope no bad luck will befall 
them. Chapin is a nice man ; and he has got the prettiest 
woman for a wife that I ever set eyes on.” 

Number One — “Yes; she knows how to put on the silks 
and diamonds. But old man Dean’s little wife is worth 
twenty of her. She is a woman in a thousand.” 

Number Two — “ I believe I ’ll not wait any longer. I will 
come back after awhile. Good-day.” 

Number One — “ A Deos ! ” 


THE RESULT. 


39 


Number Two goes directly to Chapin & Co., and draws 
out his little deposit : though Chapin & Co. are both clever 
men, and he likes them, he can’t afford to risk his little pile 
with them when they are thought “skeery.” 

Ranchero jingles to a convenient corner to watch the bank 
doors until it is half-past three. Then he jingles into the 
room and stops squarely before the cash window. 

“ My money ready ? ’ ’ 

Romer looks nervous. 

“ Your money. Let me see. How much was it?” 

“Four thousand dollars in gold. Every cent I got from 
my last drive. You haven’t forgot, though you try to look 
like you had.” 

“ I ’ll see Colonel Chapin.” He disappeared to return in a 
moment. “He has gone out. Can you wait till morning?” 

“ No, by ! I can’t. The fellah told me to come here 

at three-thirty and I could have it, ^nd I ’m here at three- 
thirty, and I am going to have it or have somebody’s brains. 
He is not gone either, and you can tell him so. You are the 
cash man and can get it for me without him, and you had 
better do it pretty quick. What do you want ? Mind who 
you jostle when you are among gentlemen.” Turning, he saw 
it was a policeman who had touched him. His right hand 
went to the pistol in his belt ; then, seeing there were three 
of the law officers he stopped. 

“You must make no threats here, sir. Bank hours are 
over ; see, the window is shut. Now if you will be quiet and 
make no threats I will not arrest you. You can come back 
in the morning and attend to your business.” 

They moved out of the room with him, and the bank doors 
closed ponderously behind the-m, shutting out other eager, 
anxious-faced men. Ranchero made no further resistance, 


40 


BOB DEAN. 


but jingled away in the crowd. Yet there was a smouldered 
fire in his eyes that boded no good to the men who had 
thwarted him. 

Five o’clock is Mrs. Chapin’s dinner hour. The table has 
waited twenty minutes, and the lady is very impatient for her 
husband to come. She is more than usually anxious this 
afternoon, for there are many things she desires to talk with 
him about. Six o’clock ! The winter night has come down. 
Dinner is spoiled. Seven o’clock ! The patience of the 
beautiful mistress is exhausted, when there comes a ring at 
the door. She is too restless to wait for a servant to answer 
the summons; she opens the door herself, and ushers in four 
strong men, bearing her dead husband on a stretcher . Romer 
comes with them and states that the banker had waited until 
after six, before leaving his office, arranging the books and 
papers with him. He had not been gone a moment from the 
private door of his office when two pistol reports rang out in 
quick succession. He ran out, but it was raining slightly and 
the air full of mist; it was already dark, so he could not 
clearly see the figure, dashing away on a horse, down the 
street past him. When he reached his prostrate employer 
life was already extinct, for his brains had literally been 
blown out. 

Mrs. Chapin did not shriek nor faint, though she loved her 
husband, but led the way into his bed-room and called his 
waiting-man. Then requesting Romer to attend to all neces- 
sary matters, and to call on her at his earliest leisure, she shut 
herself in her private room, away from her little, screaming, 
terrified children. 

Two days afterward, and the funeral is over. Chapin & Co. 
have suspended and made assignment. The assignees are to 
take possession to-morrow. Judge Dean is very low; so ill 


THE RESULT. 


41 


that he seems to know but little that transpires around him. 
But his wife understands that the blow falls heavily on his 
proud heart, and she leaves him not an instant, no, not even 
to go to Annetta, in her trouble. Poor, poor Annetta ! so 
worldly, so fond of her money, with no trust in her Heavenly 
Guardian to sustain her now, no trust in anything except her 
own beauty and riches, and her murdered husband. Poor, 
poor Annetta ! Esther Dean’s gentle heart bleeds for her, 
but she has little time to think. Her husband’s feverish eyes 
watch her, and seem to find no rest save on her sweet face. 
Bob sits beside his bed, occasionally doing little services in 
the sick-room, for he is very handy; his mother is often sick, 
and when suffering loves to have the chubby brown hands 
about her. 

In the afternoon the Judge is much better, and insists on 
sending for Romer to see him. His wife remonstrates, but 
he will not be denied, saying he will be quieter when he 
understands how his business stands. So Romer comes. 

There is no doubt, he tells him, that it is a clear case of 
bankruptcy. The sale of cotton in New Orleans was on a low 
market, and they lost heavily. Numerous other bills fall due 
and there is no money to meet them. The collaterals are of 
no present value, thrown upon a timid, disturbed market. 

The lien on the Van Dusen ranche — could it not be made 
to realize something? The lien on the Van Dusen ranche was 
made in Annetta Chapin's uidividual name , and the firm 
assignees ca?inot touch it. 

Judge Dean turns cold to his very heart; but he only 
tightens his grasp on his wife’s hand, which is tenderly hold- 
ing his, and says slowly: “ In Annetta Chapin’s name ! And 
I have trusted that man for twenty years ! ” 

“ There is something I cannot understand about it, Judge. 

4 * 


42 


BOB DEAN. 


Colonel Chapin certainly did not intend to do you any injustice. 
In the last talk I had with him, the same hour he was killed, 
he said he would be compelled to suspend next day, but hated 
like death to do it on your account. He hoped to resume in 
a few days. I feared some foul play about that lien, and 
examined the papers closely, but they were in his own hand- 
writing, and all in legal order. As I said, I don’t understand 
it. There are about two thousand dollars in gold in the safe, 
which he put in a bag and told me to bring up to you that 
night after business hours, saying you would need it for per- 
sonal expenses until the firm got under headway again. The 
events of the hour prevented me from doing it, and you have 
been too sick to be disturbed since. I knew if I brought it 
I would have to talk to you a good deal, and I was afraid it 
would not be good for you ; but the money is in his private 
drawer, and will not be touched ; I can bring it up to-night. 
Mrs. Chapin asked for the key and combination this after- 
noon, saying there were some strictly private and individual 
papers in it that she wanted before the assignees came in. 
I went down with her and opened the safe and left her there. 
You know she is up to the points in the business as much, 
nearly, as he was — Colonel always advised with her. But no 
one else is in the bank now, and I would like to return as soon 
as possible, if you will excuse me. Mrs. Chapin told me she 
would not remain in Austin after she could get her affairs 
arranged to leave.” 

Judge Dean lay with his eyes shut, seemingly giving little 
attention to Romer’s talk. ’T was the stillness produced by a 
shock which stuns the sensibilities. 

Romer had not been gone an hour when a messenger came 
with a letter to Judge Dean from his daughter. 


THE RESULT. 


43 


“Dear Father: — It is useless to spend words in discuss- 
ing the deplorable state of our affairs. You will act as the 
true and brave always do — live through it and rise above it. 
I will also act out my nature — the moral coward, and run 
away from what I am not strong nor honest enough to bear. 
You know now of the act which would seem to cover the 
heretofore honorable name of my dead husband with shame. 
Of course I refer to the V. D. mortgage. I cannot suffer the 
ignominy to rest upon him. You have always trusted him, 
while you have known me from my infancy that I am not 
honest when it is to my interest to be a knave. I assume the 
whole opprobrium of that deed. Erwin only did it at my solicita- 
tion, and because I told him you would throw the value of the 
lien into the bank stock to save your creditors, and we would, 
none of us, get any good from it. I promised him to make it 
over to you again as soon as the affairs were settled, and he 
believed me. But you will be able to see at a glance that I 
cannot do without it now — it is my only fortune. I tell you 
this that you may clear him in your mind of any duplicity. 
He was an honest man. I have also taken out of the drawer 
the two thousand dollars cash he put there for you. You will 
be able to get along without it, while I cannot. I will take 
my children and servants and leave for New Orleans this 
evening — this is sent you after I am gone — and I will never 
come back. I leave my house, furniture, and so forth, at 
your disposal — they certainly will be worth something. Of 
course, people will not think strange that I should desire to 
leave the scene of the events of the past two days as soon as 
possible. I would like to see you and tell you farewell, but I 
feel ’t would be adding insult to injury. I hope you will for- 
get your unworthy daughter. I know you will forgive her, 
though she bring down your gray hairs with sorrow to the 
grave. But Bob will be a blessing to your old age ; he has 
an honest mother, and I have heard I never had. 

“ Farewell. 

“Ann etta.” 

But Judge Dean did not live down the difficulties which 
beset him ; for the Fates had measured his span of life. His 


44 


BOB DEAN. 


sixty years were the Clotho who drew out the slender fibre ; 
his financial troubles the Lachesis who turned the last revo- 
lution of the quivering wheel of fortune ; and the heartless 
ingratitude of his child the Atropis who clipped life’s fin- 
ished thread. And so he died ; and after he was gone they 
found there was nothing left for his patient wife and brave 
boy but poverty and strong will to do, wedded to a sure trust 
in the God of the universe. But Mrs. Dean had many 
friends, and this fair city of Texas then, as now, offered a 
quick and keen appreciation of pluck, independence, and 
merit. She rented her a little home, gathered her a music 
class, and fed and clothed and reared her boy, educating him 
not only in the classics and sciences, but instilling into his 
very being that cardinal virtue his father had esteemed the 
jewel of manhood, — truth in word, thought, deed. 


CHAPTER IV. 


SOME PROSPECTS. 



'HE thread of my story now brings us to the village of 


A C , in the county of Milam, nearly in the centre of 

Texas. Time, November, 1877, at four in the afternoon. 
Weather, gray and chilly, with a blustering norther ruling the 
elements. Labor would be wasted in saying the sidewalks of 
the town were unpaved ; for paved streets in the cities of 
Texas are, even yet, few and far between, as the denizens 
thereof will bear me witness in saying. The particular walk 
with which we need now to become acquainted was not be- 
side anything save a rude rail fence, so we will not call it a 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


45 


sidewalk; it was worse than unpaved, for it was two-and- 
a-half inches deep in loose sand, which yielded to the feet of 
the pedestrian, making him realize that all smooth roads are 
not easy to travel ; moreover, the rank Jamestown weeds had, 
during the fervid summer, grown to majestic proportions, and 
on either side encroached upon the narrow path, forbidding 
aught but single-file promenade, and even then occasionally 
bearing triumphant pennon of fringe or flounce. This 
was an out-of-the-way street, leading to the boys’ academy, 
now for some months untenanted, and remote from the trade 
centre. Upon this crooked and narrow path strode Bob 
Dean with aggressive steps and quick ; nor did the sand yield 
overmuch to his feet, for they were broad and never tardy. 
He had passed through the weeds and reached firmer, higher 
ground, when he reached the corner, where an untrimmed 
Bois d’Arc hedge began. 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss ! I — I — the wind is blowing so, 
and I was n’t looking ; really, I did n’t think of meeting any- 
one. Pray, excuse my rudeness.” 

“Certainly; it was purely accidental; but I believe my 
music is gone.” 

“Excuse me — I will recover it.” 

Easier said than done. The young lady, half laughing, 
looked ruefully at the flying sheets whirled down the street 
by the mad wind. The incipient smile was well developed 
as she watched Bob pursuing the fugitive leaves and making 
vain attempts to capture them. 

“That must be the new schoolmaster; I heard he had 
come. The wind has blown me out of all order, and of 
course I am blushing like a school-girl— though I believe they 
don’t blush now— at any rate I do, which is my misfortune. 
He looks as awkward as I feel — that is consoling. But he is 
coming back.” 


BOB DEAN. 


4 6 

Now we all know how undignified one feels when trying to 
regain some object which the wind keeps just beyond our 
reach. Bob Dean was forcibly reminded of the Quaker, who, 
under like circumstances, handed a quarter to a bystander, 
with the request that he “would swear the worth of that at 
yonder blessed hat.” Bob did not make a practice of swear- 
ing, and there was no one by except a very pretty girl ; so 
when the sheets had at last reached the tall weeds, and* were 
stopped in their wild career, he had only to make the best of 
his way back, endeavoring to smooth his ruffled dignity as 
well as the crumpled music. 

“I believe this is all, Miss,” said he, arranging the leaves, 
and restoring them to the old portfolio which he took from 
her hand, at the same time glancing at the name printed on 
the cover. “Let me see — ‘Lucia di Lammermoor’ — there 
is only one page here, and there ought to be ten — where can 
the others be ? ” — his dark eyes scanning the weedy road. “ I 
see no more.” 

“Oh, it matters not,” said the lady, looking up in surprise 
that he should show familiarity with the composition ; for it 
was not a common one, and was above the grade generally 
affected by society men. What wonderful eyes ! they dazzled 
him so he forgot to speak until she had murmured, “ Thanks ; 
good afternoon!” and stowing her portfolio under her left 
arm, while her right endeavored to restrain her wind-whipped 
skirts to a semblance of order, she pursued her way down the 
path he had just traversed. 

Bob Dean was returning from the academy to his boarding- 
place, his square chin tucked in his overcoat-collar, and his 
hat pulled over his eyes to shield his clean-shaven face from 
the cutting winter blast. With his hands in his pockets, and 
his mind on the new work before him among the rude boys 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


47 


of a Texas village, he had no thought of who might be com- 
ing down the other side of the block, until he had run full 
against this young woman, nearly overthrowing her, and, in 
the effort to save her from a fall, had knocked her book out 
of her hand. After she passed, he stood, spite of the wind, 
to look after her. 

“ Wonder who she is. Mary Lipscomb is the name on her 
portfolio. How she did blush ! I expect I blushed too. 
What an awkward blunder ! Pretty introduction among the 
young ladies of C . Would n’t mother laugh ! ha ! ha ! ” 

Just here the lady turned to look back at him, whereupon 
. they both repeated the easy feat of blushing, and immediately 
hastened to resume their diverse ways. 

When Bob reached his boarding-place, after transacting 
some necessary business in the town, he found the family 
assembled at the tea-table, not waiting; Mrs. Brown never 
waited for anybody, neither did she keep people waiting. If 
the pert little clock over the mantle were to strike six, in the 
winter, before the tea was poured out, it would be so aston- 
ished at its own temerity ’t would be certain to put its hands 
over its face. His landlady was a buxom, black-eyed little 
matron, who prided herself on being “forehanded.” It was 
her boast that her meals were dished up before her neighbors’ 
kitchen chimneys were smoking ; but her thrift did not man- 
ifest itself in a stinted board. The Browns were “ well to do 
in the world,” and only took an occasional boarder because 
the family was small and they liked the company ; moreover, 
the one hotel of the village did not maintain a good reputa- 
tion for either fare or patronage ; and so, when a stranger of 
the better class came for more than a temporary stay, the pri- 
vate families of the place considered it a Christian duty to 
take him in. Mrs. Brown’s house was a favorite, and when 


48 


BOB DEAN. 


Bob Dean had inquired of one of the school committee, who 
had installed him in his work, for a good boarding-place, he 
had been unhesitatingly recommended to “try Mrs. Brown,” 
and was furthermore informed that he might consider himself 
lucky if he got in there. “She keeps good fare, good fires, 
good beds, and,” he added with a wink, “ it does not matter 
so much whether you pay up punctually or not, if you make 
love to suit her girl.” 

Bob thought he could manage that part. Not that he 
expected to be delinquent on pay-day, nor did he care to 
make love simply pour passer le temps , but he knew how to 
render himself agreeable to a young lady, and would enjoy, 
exceedingly, one in the house. And, he considered further, 
if he should become interested to a degree of tenderness, 
what odds ? he was twenty-six years old, and it was time he 
should be falling in love in earnest, provided his “girl” would 
wait till he was ready to marry, which would be some years 
first. Really he believed he would be able to work harder, 
and with more steadiness of purpose, when he knew for what 
sort of woman he was working. That there was to be a woman 
in the question he never paused to consider ; that was a settled 
fact. His life had been too busy for the forming of many 
friendships, and he had never known but one woman well. 
An intimate knowledge of his mother’s pure motives and 
singleness of purpose, had placed her sex upon a high pedestal 
of honor in the mind of her admiring son. He did not deem 
it weak to give to her a devotion which was both tender and 
chivalrous. Their circumstances had accustomed them to 
measure their expenditures by their narrow purse, and few 
luxuries had been in their lot. So they had learned to take 
comfort in each other. She was to him friend, confidant, 
sister, as well as mother. And he — well, she loved him as a 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


49 


tender-hearted woman would love an only son, when he is 
worthy of the best love. What more could I say to tell the 
depths of her heart ? They had been but little separated up 
to this time. After her husband’s death, when poverty had 
taken the place of the easy affluence he had loved to surround 
her with, Esther Dean had gone to work patiently, with a 
settled purpose, to educate her boy fully. But her little body 
was frail, and had not strength for much work, so Bob had to 
do many things to add to their slender means ; sometimes it 
was sawing and storing wood for a neighbor, or driving a 
milk- or bread-cart, or working a garden ; afterwards, copying 
for the public offices. One year, when neither were in 
good health, they had rented a little farm in the country, and 
he plowed and reaped like a veritable son of the soil, while she 
tended the garden and poultry, and sent their spoils to town 
to market. While this discipline was good for mind and body, 
it had retarded his literary education, and he was twenty-one 
before they were able to go to college. I said they, for she 
could not dream of giving him up for so long ; so she went 
with him and kept a home, and boarded other students to pay 
their expenses. After he graduated, he attended a medical 
school two terms, for he had never resigned the purpose, 
formed in childhood, to be a surgeon. Then their money 
gave out, and he had sought and obtained the position as 

teacher in the boys’ school at C to make more. He left 

his mother in Austin, where she had many friends and a little 
work ; but only until something could be done to get her 
with him again — he did not know what, but he would be on 
the lookout. 

They had never met Annetta Chapin since the tragical 
events that had brought about their separation. Only once 
had they heard from her directly. Then, she wrote that she 
5 » 


50 


BOB DEAN. 


had been married again to a very rich old man who had not 
a relative in the world. He had settled on her a handsome 
fortune, and she really could spare something without feeling 
its loss ; so, if they were in needy circumstances, (which she 
hoped was not the case ; for one so worthy as Esther Dean 
would surely never be suffered by a just Providence to want,) 
why, if they would let her know their need, she would send 
them a liberal remittance from time to time. 

The few moments which followed the reading of this 
epistle was the only time Bob could ever remember to have 
seen his gentle little mother genuinely angry, and he believed - 
this unscrupulous, proud daughter of her dead husband to be 
the only creature living towards whom she cherished unkind 
feelings. She had never forgiven her for the unkind blow 
which she believed had cost her her husband’s life, and they 
never mentioned her name between them. They had received 
no favor from her, and Bob shut her memory out of his cheery 
heart ; feeling that he had to cut his own way in the world, he 
just hewed away at the block of fortune with lusty blows. 

But while we have been talking about him, he has been 
waiting for his supper. A glance at the table is sufficient to 
make one impatient, even if he had not, like our hero, taken 
his midday meal from a lunch-basket in the turmoil of school- 
boys let loose from tasks. 

Snowy linen and shining silver are the setting for the 
cheering vision of smoking steaks, rosy slices of cold boiled 
ham, flaky biscuit, golden corn-cakes, yellow butter (a big 
plate of it), amber honey, and home-made pickles and 
sweets, with the fragrant accompaniment of steaming tea 
and coffee. 

Doubtless you will question my taste in mentioning the fact 
concerning him, but Bob was just the man to appreciate this 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


51 


view of life. He must have a large physical nature who attains 
a healthy, permanent amplitude of mental growth or execu- 
tive ability, and this nature is the outgrowth, other hygienic 
laws duly regarded, of liberal feeding. So I repeat it, and 
having made my point, consider no apology for him neces- 
sary, that Bob Dean took a satisfactory view of the table in 
far less time than we have spent over it. Indeed, he had 
little leisure to spare, for Mrs. Brown was introducing him to 
Miss Jennie Brown, her daughter, the only other occupant of 
the supper-room at present. 

I will tell you how she looks now, that we may not need to 
stop in the midst of the conversation to do so, for Mrs. Brown 
and her daughter are both good talkers. Should you have to 
wait long to see her you would lose much, though you will 
constantly be finding out new lights in which to view her 
beauty. 

Low, full forehead, around which clustered short curls, 
silky and black, which had received an extra touch in honor 
of the new boarder. Great dusky eyes, which snapped when 
she talked. Rich, dark skin, with abundant color in the 
smooth cheeks and pretty passionate lips. Plump and trim 
as a robin in form, and fully as graceful. 

“ Right pretty little girl, with fun in her, too,” was Bob’s 
mental conclusion. But oh, the fickleness of a man’s fancy! 
His next thought was, “ I wonder how Miss Lipscomb would 
look out of the wind, with her face its natural color.” 

“ Well, how do you like the prospects here, Mr. Dean?” 
said Mrs. Brown, handing him his tea. 

“ Do you mean the town’s prospects or mine, Mrs. 
Brown ? ’ ’ 

“Well, I don’t know. Either, I suppose,” she answered, 
laughing. 


52 


BOB DEAN. 


“Both,” suggested Miss Jennie. 

“Taken together or separately?” he inquired, turning to 
her with mock seriousness. 

“ Separate as far as they differ, and then you may view 
them together.” She was not to be outdone right at the 
beginning of their acquaintance. 

“ To be exact, I have not seen very much of the town yet. 
The business square looks very dull and rather dirty.” 

“ Mondays and Tuesdays are always dull, especially at this 
season, when everybody is busy picking and ginning their 
cotton,” said Mrs. Brown, anxious to exonerate her town 
from so opprobrious a charge. “Saturday is the busy day 
here. ’ * 

“Unfortunately, I arrived on Monday, and have only had 
Tuesday as yet to view it in,” returned Bob. 

“Well, and the other prospects?” reminded Jennie, with 
a gleam of fun in her eyes. 

“ The trees are beautiful in their autumnal colors, as though 
tinged with the pencil of art. The streets are very sandy and 
weedy, and the wind high,” and Bob laughed as he thought 
of the accident these combined elements had brought about 
for him. 

“ You seem to enjoy that prospect. Any more? ” Jennie 
persisted with answering smile. 

“Jennie, don’t tease, child; Mr. Dean will think you are 
too inquisitive,” said her mother, not quite able to under- 
stand the turn the conversation had taken. 

“ Not at all, madam ; I like to be questioned ; it develops 
the powers of observation and facility of defining. Being a 
teacher, it becomes an every-day matter to me to be ques- 
tioned.” He did not think it necessary to bestow the infor- 
mation on them that this was his first day’s experience in that 
line. 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


53 


“I should think you would get tired enough of it all day 
long, without having one put between every mouthful of your 
supper. Mattie ! ” this in a shrill call to the young lady of 
color, who had disappeared into the kitchen. ‘‘Why don’t 
you stay in here where you are wanted. Bring some more 
batter-cakes.” » 

“I am waiting for some more prospects,” said Jennie. 

“You shall have all I have taken in. My school-room was 
very noisy, full, and promising, to say nothing of being cold.” 

“ Do you like that one ? ” 

“The last? not very well; but I shall mend it to-morrow. 
I stopped at town to order a damper in the stove-pipe and a 
load of wood. The first part I do like. I think it promising, 
because it is noisy, and noisy because it’s full, and the fuller 
it is the more promising my prospects.” 

“The committee ought to have had the wood there before 
the school opened,” said Mrs. Brown, whose mind was of a 
practical turn. “ When Mr. Brown ’s at home he always 
attends to it; but he hasn’t been home any of week-days 
lately. I should have thought Mr. Gooch would have done 
it ; but I reckon they thought it was uncertain about your 
coming — we have been disappointed so often about getting a 
good teacher.” 

“They did not know me nor appreciate my promising 
prospects,” said he, looking solemn. 

“ Well, the next one,” said Jennie. 

“The next one is this tea-table, which I can no longer 
consider promising, since the greater part of its merits have 
been already tested, and proved to be no delusion. Shall I 
help you to honey, thereby allowing you to participate in my 
‘ sweet prospects ’ ? ” 

“How unpoetical, Mr. Dean, to blend your views of na- 
5 * 


54 


BOB DEAN. 


ture and art with the food you eat ! ” and Jennie shook her 
curls and shut her eyes, thus enhancing the effect of their 
blackness when reopened and “ fired ” at her companion the 
next minute. He appreciated the effect, as he laughingly 
responded, 

“ Oh, no ! Miss Brown ; do you not know that, 

* We may live without poetry, music, and art ; 

We may live without conscience, and live without heart; 

We may live without friends, live without books, 

But civilized man cannot live without cooks. 

He may live without books; what is knowledge but grieving? 

He may live without hope; what is hope but deceiving? 

He may live without love; what is passion but pining? 

But where is the man that can live without dining? ’ 


“ If you will not stop to question the taste of so lengthy a 
quotation, you will readily perceive that one’s food cannot be 
unpoetical, when such good and true poetry has been written 
about it.” 

An appreciative laugh from mother and daughter, then said 
the latter, “ I acknowledge defeat. Well, are there any more 
prospects ? ’ ’ 

“ Yourself is the last, which, I hope you will pardon me 
for saying, I consider the most promising of all,” — a low bow 
as he rises from the table — “ unless I may add the future one 
of much enjoyment in improving an acquaintance so pleasantly 
begun.” 

He opened the door for her to pass out. 

“ Will you come into the parlor? You must not make a 
recluse of yourself,” she said, as she saw that he was about to 
ascend the stairs to his room on the second floor. 

“ Thanks, but I must deny myself the pleasure this evening, 


SOME PROSPECTS. 


55 


Miss Brown. I have a letter to write for the morning mail,” 
and bowing again he left her. 

Jennie’s under lip took on a more perceptible pout as she 
shut herself into the parlor. 

“Cool and dignified,” she said, going up to the fire, and 
pushing the forestick with the toe of her little shoe — an ugly 
habit she had when excited. “ I ’ll engage the time will come 
when he will be glad to come into my parlor without an invi- 
tation. He is so good-looking ; fresh and honest. I wish I 
could say as much for somebody else I like better than I want 
any one to know. I wonder what the doctor will think of his 
being here. Guess it will put him to thinking. I saw him 
looking at Mary Lipscomb last Sunday, like there wasn’t 
anybody else worth” — a glance in the mirror over the mantle 
finished the sentence. A sparkle in the big eyes and a firm 
setting of the ripe lips ; then resting her pretty head on the 
plump hands clinging to the mantle-shelf, she looked long into 
the fire, while the soliloquy went on — 

“ Mr. Dean is just spl-l-lendid. I ’ll warrant he could love 
hard. Wonder if there would not be comfort in being loved 
by a man who thought more of you than of himself?” Her 
lips soften, and take on a pitiful, childish look ; then just as 
you might expect to see tears drop from the now tender eyes, 
another change sweeps over the expressive face, and she 
wheels off to the open piano, saying, 

“Iam^ lonesome to-night. I wish my sweetheart would 
come. Well, since that delectable young gentleman up-stairs 
would not come in and talk to me, he shall not write, if noise 
will hinder him,” and she runs through a pretty little fantasia, 
in bad time, but with sweet expression. 

Bob Dean had seated himself before his own fire, with 
writing material spread on the table at his elbow. He had 


56 BOB DEAN. 

not written to his mother since his arrival, and he must be 
sure to tell her everything, for he had promised to write her 
such letters that she should know his life as it was. He 
wished she could see how comfortable his surroundings were, 
and how pleasant people his new friends promised to be. 
Just now the sound of the piano in the room below brought 
to his mind the subject of music in general, and the truant 
notes of the afternoon in particular. He could see again the 
lovely, blushing girl he had so nearly knocked down on his 
heedless homeward walk; he was interested in the lady 
beyond his usual habit, and could account for it only on the 
ground that he should like to be better acquainted, in order 
to demonstrate to her that his accidental rudeness was not 
habitual. Writing to his mother of the circumstance, he said : 

* 1 1 only wish I could make you see how she looked as she 
tried to keep back the laughter in her face when I returned 
from my scamper down the street. She controlled her mouth 
pretty well ; but her eyes — such eyes ! all the sunshine of a 
June day prisoned in the purest drop of the brightest nook 
of our dear, blue Colorado, could no more than match them. 
I can only say that I want immensely to see them again, — 
and really I believe etiquette would suggest that I call and 
offer apology, and replace the music I was the cause of her 
losing. Inclination nods assent ; so will you kindly send me 
a copy by the very first mail ; I inclose on a card the name 
of the piece, and think you will find it among our collection 
— not what we have used lately, but perhaps in the old stand 
in the corner ; — be sure it is all there — ten pages, as I happen 
to remember. If it is not there, please get it for me as soon 
as possible. Now if I should become unduly interested in 
this young lady, and should develop a genuine ‘ strong pas- 
sion,’ you cannot say I fell in love ; for I walked in blind- 
folded — my hat was over my eyes; but don’t be uneasy, 
little mother ; I shall never love her nor any other woman 
better than you until you see her, judge her, and bid me ‘ go 
and be happy. ” * 


THOSE LAUGHING EYES. 


57 


Thus it is; men jest of things which Fate holds in her 
portentous hand, and make promises they have no power to 
fulfil or to leave undone. 

But Bob had finished his letter now; folded, sealed, 
stamped it, and laid it in the left breast-pocket of his over- 
coat. Then, opening his trunk, he brought out some dry- 
looking books on surgery — he had not come here to devote 
himself to school-teaching exclusively — and stretching out 
his stout legs to the warmth of the fire, he was soon as obliv- 
ious to surrounding circumstances as if there were no charm- 
ingly pretty girls within a league of him. 


CHAPTER V 


THOSE LAUGHING EYES, 


“The light of love, the purity of grace, 

The mind, the music breathing from her face; 

The heart, whose softness harmonized the whole, 

And, oh ! that eye was in itself a soul.” 

OUR o’clock of Friday afternoon found Bob Dean at 



X Mrs. Lipscomb’s gate. The desired music had arrived 
promptly in the afternoon mail, and he lost no time in deliv- 
ering it ; for he had not found his desire to see the laughing 
eyes grow less as the days went by. He had been lonely and 
homesick during the week. On the morning after his first 
meeting with Miss Jennie Brown she had gone on a visit to 
a friend in Rockdale, and had not yet returned. Her mother 
had entertained a neuralgic tendency, and was not sociable ; 
so he had found no companion but his work. He had been 


53 


BOB DEAN. 


used always to having his mother’s company of evenings, and 
had hardly learned yet to do without the sight of her sympa- 
thetic face across the table when at his night work. But he 
had a precious letter from her this afternoon, and was cheered 
thereby. Then, Miss Jennie would be home to-night ; be- 
sides, here he was looking at Miss Lipscomb’s flowers, grow- 
ing so trimly on either side of the neat walk leading up to 
the little yellow house, half covered with rose-vines and hon- 
eysuckles. Late roses, violets, narcissuses, and chrysanthe- 
mums, in every variety of color and size, sent fragrant breaths 
out on the still, sweet air. He went up the steps and rapped 
at the door, then turned to look again while he awaited an 
answer to the summons. Bright, frost-painted leaves from 
the overhanging trees floated down to his feet, and golden 
bars of sunlight pierced the lattice. Mrs. Lipscomb opened 
the door herself. 

“ Good -afternoon, madam. Is Miss Lipscomb at home?” 

“No, sir; she is not at home,” answered the lady, while 
her eyes questioned his purpose in calling for her daughter. 

“ I am sorry. I have a package for her which I should like 
to have the pleasure of delivering in person,” returned Bob, 
while he felt himself blushing. 

“She is out, just now, giving a music lesson; but it is 
almost time for her to come home. Would you like to 
come in and wait?” and she stepped back, giving him en- 
trance. 

“If you please, ’ ’ he said, taking the chair offered. ‘ 4 Thanks ! 
I presume this is Mrs. Lipscomb ? Dean is my name. I am 
so unfortunate as to be the cause of your daughter’s loss of a 
valuable piece of music a few days since. I hope she will 
permit me to replace it,” he said, tapping his knee with the 
roll in his hand. 


THOSE LAUGHING EYES. 59 

“ Yes. Mary told me about it. She was very much amused 
at the circumstance.” ^ 

“ I am grateful that she is so kind as to view my awkward- 
ness with so much leniency.” 

“Oh, it was purely an accident; not worth mentioning. 
You have taken charge of the boys’ school here, I believe?” 

“Yes, madam. I have been installed now some days.” 

“ We ’ve a pretty rough set of boys here, sir. I hope you 
will succeed in managing them better than the last teacher 
did.” 

Mrs. Lipscomb lived a lonely life. There were only her- 
self and Mary in family, and they had little means except 
their cottage home and the daughter’s income from her music 
class, which, of course, kept her much occupied. The oppor- 
tunity of making so promising acquaintance as the young 
school-master, whose praise she already heard on every 
tongue, was not to be neglected, simply because Mary was 
absent. She was a pleasant woman, with a sweet, kind face, 
and brown hair, turning gray; but Bob could not prevent 
taking notice of an uncommonly large wen, which disfigured 
the left cheek just below her eyes. Little did he realize now 
how important a factor this same deformity should become to 
him. 

“ Judging from my one week’s experience I do not think 
the boys here ruder than the generality of their kind,” said he, 
in answer to her remark; “ they have been quite civil to me.” 

“ Perhaps they found out from the first that they had to be. 
Boys only need a man to manage them.” 

“As scions of the republic they refuse to succumb to any 
but full-grown specimens of their kind.” 

“ I suppose so ; and then with bad grace.” 

“ I don’t blame them. I was a boy myself not long since. 


6o 


BOB DEAN. 


Submission is not pleasant in any case, and only becomes 
tolerable when inevitable, through the mastery of a stronger 
will, or when robbed of its bitterness by the sweet deception 
of being voluntary ; whenever practicable I shall try the latter 
plan, beguile them into thinking my will is their own, and 
thus make it pleasanter for all parties.” 

“Boys are hard to fool. I think they see into people’s 
motives quicker than older folks.” 

“You think nature has endowed them with intuition, as a 
protection while strength is developing? Perhaps so.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder if you managed them, though. As I 
said, boys will respect a man ,” and Mrs. Lipscomb glanced 
approvingly at Bob’s well-made person. 

“Was your last teacher a lady?” he asked, ignoring the 
compliment her look implied. 

“ Oh, no ; he was only not a man ; a little fellow, not so tall 
as I, with a big head and long black hair, which he wore in 
curls down his neck. He was very particular about having the 
1 Professor ’ put before his name, and I believe he was half 
crazy on the subject of phrenology. He wanted to control 
and train the boys according to their mental development, 
of which he judged by feeling their heads.” 

“And did the boys object to being bumped?” asked Bob. 

“Yes,” continued the widow; “and it wasn’t long before 
-they had, most of them, more bumps than they were entitled 
to; for all they did was to play and fight, and when the 
parents complained the Professor said that it could not be 
helped ; let me see if I can remember his words about it — oh, 
yes ! i Combativeness was very strongly developed in the boys 
of Milam County, owing to the pure air they breathed, the lime 
in the water they drank, which fed the bone and sinew, the 
absence of phosphoretic elements in their food (being distant 


THOSE LAUGHING EYES. 


61 


from the sea and its finny spoils), which would have corrected 
the undue influence by diverting the nervous fluid into brain 
fibre, added to the impalpable effect of the spirit of freedom 
which pervades the West,’ and I don’t know how much more 
of the same sort of stuff ; he was writing a book on the subject 
when the trustees turned him off.” 

“ What he lacked in the physical make-up of manhood he 
atoned for in philosophy. I am afraid they have lost in the ex- 
change,” said Bob, with a hearty laugh, which was contagious. 
It was a merry couple for newly-made acquaintance, upon 
which the outer door now opened, admitting the young lady 
just called for, who seemed somewhat surprised to find her 
mother on such sociable terms with a stranger. But when 
she recognized him she stepped forward and offered her hand 
as her mother introduced him, and happy Bob was favored 
with another of those marvellous gleams of prisoned sunshine, 
the quintessence of merriment and good-will. 

When the door opened the little room had been flooded 
with the afternoon sunlight, and in the golden sheen Mary 
had entered. Strange that ever after Bob thought of her, in 
absence, as she looked now, standing in the yellow glow. 
The impression of the previous meeting in the blustering wind 
was forever banished. While they are passing mutual compli- 
ments, giving and disclaiming apologies, we will look at her, 
for I am anxious you should know exactly how she looks, and 
you would pardon me for being tediously explicit if I could 
show you her perfectly. Large, erect, full-chested, with every 
rounded muscle moulded in most perfect symmetry, she was 
certainly a handsome young woman. Perhaps, if you meas- 
ured her features by the strictest criterion of feminine beauty, 
you would not pronounce her faultless; but noble-looking and 
winsome was she without a doubt. From a broad, white fore- 
6 


62 


BOB DEAN. 


head swept waves of luxuriant brown hair, so rich, so abun- 
dant, you could hardly believe it all grew on the shapely head 
around which it lay coiled like a queen’s coronet. Well- 
arched brows, darker than the hair ; the eyes are wondrously 
deep, clear, and dark, heavily fringed with long lashes, and full 
of friendship and candor when they rest full on yours, as if 
to permit you “ to look upon her naked heart and love her.” 
The rather large nose is clear-cut and regular, indicating force 
of character. Wide, sensitive red lips, ever ready to smile, 
disclosing perfect rows of pearly teeth. If the upper part of 
her face is a trifle too strong the fault is fully atoned for by 
the sweet, womanly double-chin, with a cunning dimple, com- 
panion to one in the left cheek, which keeps fruitless guard 
over the flitting color. Add to these a complexion of rare 
purity, for the Texas climate, and you have a picture of our 
heroine. After you have looked as long as propriety will 
allow, you will still be at a loss to understand why you cannot 
give her fair looks the credit of the indescribable charm which 
pervades her presence; then you may happen to stumble on 
the truth — that it is the pure, womanly heart, shining through 
the sweet face, that attracts you. 

Bob Dean could never remember what he said that golden 
afternoon, nor what she answered. Neither did he try to 
analyze the spell that possessed him, which he was loath to 
break when the slanting sun rays warned him of a waiting sup- 
per, perhaps an irate hostess. He did not ask himself whither 
had vanished the home-sickness and dreariness of the past 
days, nor whence had come the new life which swelled his 
heart as he strode down the sidewalk with firmly planted foot- 
steps, as though he were walking into some pleasant situation. 
'There was a look of resolve about the pleasant mouth, and a 
light in the clear gray eyes that even the thoughts of his dar- 
ling mother had never kindled before. 


“our other boarder.” 63 

The day was just such a still, soft one as November delights 
to paint on the echo edge of Indian summer, a yellow haze 
in the air and a smell of frost-touched leaves, overhead the 
dazzling blue of Southern sky, across the western margin of 
which brilliant clouds are piling. Behind these the sun is 
now setting, ashamed of his false promises of fair weather. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“our other boarder.” 

M R. BROWN’S house stood out in bold contrast to the 
dinginess of its neighbors. It was a new two-story 
frame, pretentious with white paint and green blinds. Fences 
new, shrubbery new, everything new around it but the stately 
Spanish oaks in the yard and the people who lived inside. 

Mr. Brown had moved to Texas in ’34, had fought through 
the wars of the republic, and afterward married a pretty 
woman much younger than himself, who was of later immi- 
gration from Missouri. He boasted that he had followed 
every trade at which a man could get an honest living out of 
doors , and had lived in every county in Texas that was fit for 
a white man to stop in ; had moved on an average of every 
three years, until five years back, when he had bought a fine 
tract of bottom land on Little River, and gone into the saw- 
mill business. In clearing he found a fine old black walnut 
tree, dead long enough to be in prime seasoning. He cut 
and sawed it into lumber, and got a clever workman “from 
the States” to make his wife a set of furniture from it. 
Among the other pieces was a huge wardrobe, which exactly 


6 4 


BOB DEAN. 


suited her, and from which she vowed never would she part. 
It was too big for one wagon load, and could not be knocked 
down, so he had concluded to build a house around it and 
stay at one place. Ask him his opinion of Texas and he 
would give it about thus : 

“Been in Texas a long time. Seed a heap of kentry; 
’bout all that’s worth seein’. Fought with Houston ; was 
with Moore at Gonzales ; helped fire off the cannon at Casta- 
nado’s men. Old vet. now. Kentry’s ’bout all alike. Some 
folks like prairie best; plenty of it for ’em. If you want tim- 
ber land, plenty of that, too, and as good as any in the world. 
Times are not like they used to be, though. Money skeerce 
now. Seed the time I had a stockin’ -leg full of gold in my 
box under the bed, an’ nobody thought anything extra of it. 
Too many people cornin’ here to make their fortunes easy. 
Used ter could make money ’thout work; but, by jingo ! you 
can’t do it now. Things air as high now as when we hauled 
’em from Houston in an ox-wagin. Railroads make all the 
money now, ’taint no savin’ to other folks; but I’ve got 
nothin’ agin railroads, they hope me on considerable.” 

Mr. Brown’s mill was some twelve miles distant on the 
river, but he preferred to have his family live in town for 
“church and school privileges,” though Jennie was his only 
child, and she had no further use for schools unless the teach- 
er were eligible for a beau, and church privilege culminated 
in about the same thing for her. 

The International Railroad had, a few years back, run into 
the section, and established a station near Mr. Brown’s mill, 
thus bringing into active demand the lumber there produced. 
This gale of fortune he had met with spread canvas, and the 
combined circumstances brought about a state of finances 
that he and his were not slow to enjoy. He was rarely at 


“our other boarder.” 65 

home himself except on Sunday ; so it was that Bob Dean had 
not yet made the acquaintance of his host; but to-night, 
when he came in to tea, he found Mr. Brown already seated 
at the table, enjoying to the fullest the hot coffee and muffins. 

“Come in, Mr. Dean,” said Mrs. Brown; “you are late. 
I make you acquainted with Mr. Brown.” 

“Glad to know you, sir,” said Mr. Brown, only half-way 
rising from the table as he extended to Bob a horny hand, 
bruised and roughened by toil, while his keen eyes shot a 
glance first at him then back to the good “creature com- 
forts ” displayed on the board. 

“Jest got in myself,” he continued, with his mouth full 
of muffin; “rode hard. Knowed if I was behindhand sup- 
per would be over. Betty never waits for nobody — jest right, 
too ; but I do hate to set down to a warmed-over bite by my- 
self. I hain’t been home before for three weeks. Got so I 
wanted to see Bets and Jinse right bad. Got some machinery 
out o’ fix, so I couldn’t grind to-morrow nohow; so I left 
Jenkins, my foreman, to look after things, and I got on But- 
ton and come off. Help you to sausages? — wife, there ’s lots 
of pepper in ’em.” 

During this harangue, Bob has been able to listen and at 
the same time take several satisfactory glances at Jennie, who 
has returned, and is sitting, rosy and demure, opposite him. 

“A fine evening, Mr. Brown,” said Bob, as soon as he had 
opportunity, the person addressed having stopped talking a 
moment to watch, with interest too deep for words, his second 
cup of black coffee, into which Jennie was deliberately drop- 
ping little lumps of sugar, — deliberately, because both men 
were watching her, and her little brown hand is uncommonly 
pretty and plump. 

“That’s enough, Jinse; I don’t want all the sugar. I 
6* E 


66 


BOB DEAN. 


don’t know so well about the weather — pretty enough while 
it lasts — blue norther before morning — wish it may — want to 
kill my hogs — what you say, Bets ? ’ ’ 

“ It will suit me very well if it turns cold: Did you get 
me the sage in Rockdale? that they’ve got here is nothing 
but trash.” 

“ Sage ! declare I clean forgot what it was you wanted ; 
knowed there was something, too ; thought it was onions — 
Jinse is always wantin’ onions — chip off of the old block — 
they ’re out there in a poke. Be bound Widow Lipscomb ’s 
got sage to spare ; she always has all such in her garden.” 

Bob raised his eyes inquisitively to meet Jennie’s as her 
father alluded to her peculiar taste. Her high color did not 
deepen, but the full lower lip pushed out, and the black eyes 
snapped defiance at his presumption. Just then the mention 
of Mrs. Lipscomb’s name, for some unaccountable reason, 
brought a red flush to Bob’s forehead. Now Miss Jennie 
knew not that the widow’s name was in any way familiar to 
him, so she naturally set down his confusion to the credit of 
her own big eyes, and forthwith brightened into vivacity. 

“Papa, did you see or hear anything of Dr. Conway in 
Rockdale yesterday ? ’ ’ Her eyes fell shyly as she asked the 
question ; but whether the coyness were real or feigned, Bob 
could not, for the life of him, tell. 

“Dr. Conway! No! What ’s he doing in Rockdale? 
Have you and him fell out? Ke ! ke ! ke ! ” 

“ He expected to reach there on his way home from Gal- 
veston on Thursday, but said he would stay over till to-day 
and bring Dr. Norman with him, to assist in removing that 
wen from Mrs. Lipscomb’s face. He ought to have arrived 
before now, but he has not come yet — ” (a little caught 
breath, with her eyes yet on her plate.) 


“our other boarder.” 67 

“Humph! ’Spose you’re gettin’ oneasy, hey? No; I 
hain’t seed him. Mr. Dean, you see Dr. Conway is our other 
boarder, only he has been here nearly six months now, and 
we begin to feel like he was one of the individual family.” 

He winked at Jennie as well as was possible for very little 
eyes to wink above tight red cheeks distended with muffins 
and smiles. Jennie saw his joke, even if she were looking at 
her plate. 

“ Do you extend the same favor to all your boarders? If 
so, I consider myself fortunate indeed — an unlooked for pros- 
pect . ” 

Bob’s voice was so earnest and steady that Jennie could 
not resist the temptation to look up and discover if he were 
as serious and respectful as his tone indicated. Her glance 
was just in time to get the full benefit of the fun in his dark 
eyes. It was irresistible. The saucy lips revealed a gleam 
of pearl, and her eyes answered his. 

“ It depends on how friendly you ’ve a mind to be, I sup- 
pose,” said Mr. Brown, in answer to Bob, as he rose from the 
table, and, proceeding to fill his pipe from a pouch of tobacco, 
he stood in the open door and puffed with a power which 
might rival his own mill-engine, while he scanned the now 
darkening heavens for the signs of favorable hog-killing 
weather. 

Bob had not finished his supper, and Jennie sat still for 
company, toying with her teacup and eating hot pickle. 

“ Did you have a pleasant visit, Miss Brown ? ” asked Bob, 
by way of opening conversation. 

“ Call me Jennie, please. I hate Miss Brown. I mean to 
change my name one of these days before long.” Her eyes, 
cast up to the ceiling, are full of tears because the pickle is 
too hot. “Yes, I had a splendid time. Amanda Gregg and 


68 


BOB DEAN. 


I rode every day horseback, and we had two sociables, t 
had such a nice beau! Ooph! ” (This last on account of 
the pickle, and not the beau.) “And you ? ” 

“ I have been a little lonely myself, but I feel better to- 
night,” and Bob’s thought is of a certain fair vision, of 
golden sunshine and wondrous, winsome eyes. 

“Yes?” answered Jennie, flattered, not knowing anything 
of the vision. “ I am glad to hear it. I hope you won’t be 
lonely here. Sometimes / get sad, though.” 

A deep sigh and pensive eyes. Bob finishes his coffee, and 
rising, waits a moment before leaving the room. Jennie is 
absorbed in thought. He laughs at her coyness before he asks, 
“Will you repeat your invitation of the other evening? 
I have no letters to write to-night, and perhaps we might 
assist each other to keep off loneliness.” 

“ Oh, excuse me ! certainly ; ” and she leads the way, call- 
ing back, “ Papa, you may come in, too, with your pipe, as I 
see it is a new one.” 

In the parlor there is a bright fire burning, needlessly ; for 
they open the windows to let in the balmy evening air. 
When Bob was seated on one side of the fireplace, Jennie 
was his vis-a-vis ; as the post oak-wood flamed and glowed, 
the red light played about the piquant outlines of her selfish 
little face, lending it warmth and feeling. She had crouched 
on a low ottoman in the corner, with one trim little foot 
planted in full view, her left elbow resting on her knee, the 
hand half hidden in the clustering curls. The collar of her 
dark dress lay back, exposing the smooth, brown neck ; the 
simple fluted ruffle and deep red tie might have looked ordi- 
nary on some other woman, but everything Jennie Brown 
wore seemed to suit her especially. Her face was half averted, 
and her whole attitude pensive — she might have been think- 


“our other boarder.” 69 

ing, but perhaps was only acting a part ; for she knew Bob 
was watching her, though he had withdrawn into the shadow 
of the chimney, pleading weak eyes. Mr. Brown did the 
talking. 

“ Haven’t been long in Texas, have you, Mr. Dean ? ” 

“About twenty-six years,” answered Bob, smiling. 

“That long? Why you don’t ’pear to be that old, and 
you ’ve not the look of an old Texian.” 

“I was born in the city of Austin twenty-six years ago; 
my parents came to the State in ’49.” 

“ That so ? well, I would n’t ha’ thought it. Now there ’s 
Dr. Conway looks more the Texian than you do, and he ’s 
only been out from Virginia ’bout a year — one of the double- 
F.V’s too, / guess ; but then you see the Doctor’s alius stirrin’ 
around, and has got the 1 Texas tan. ’ He ’s a lucky fellow — 
come here last June, and now he has the best of the practice 
in the place — fust-rate doctor, too, he is — when a man ’s sick 
he gives him medicine right along, and cures him up instan- 
ter, ’stead of preachin’ round about bathing and dieting and 
cistern water and such stuff. The girls here all like him, too 
— ■b’lieve on my soul he could take his pick of ary girl in 
town right now, hey, Jinse? ” and Mr. Brown planted a hand 
on each knee of his brown jeans pants, bent his compact 
little body forward, and emitted a series of almost inaudible 
“ ki, ki, ki’s,” which, with the tightening of his red, weather- 
beaten cheeks, and the disappearance of his eyes under the 
shaggy, gray brows, did him service as laughter. 

As I said, Bob was watching Jennie — he couldn’t have 
helped it had he tried — and had seen her color gradually 
rising and deepening, until, under her father’s last thrust, it 
leaped to the very edge of her hair and tips of her pretty 
ears ; though her head tossed defiantly, and her pouting lips 


70 


BOB DEAN. 


looked disdainful enough, there was a confession of guilt in 
the downcast eyes and quivering chin. 

“ Ah, ” thought Bob, “ is that the way the truth lies ? I ’ve 
found out a nice little secret, perhaps; very well, Miss Jennie,” 
and he takes comfort for himself in another view of the afore- 
mentioned vision. 

’Tis said, if you ‘ 4 speak of an angel you will hear the 
flutter of its wings;” perhaps thoughts are as potent; for 
Mrs. Brown, coming in just now from the dining-room with 
candles, ushered in Mrs. Lipscomb and Mary, who had 
entered at the side-gate, near the kitchen. Jennie sprang 
forward to welcome the visitors, gladly, for she was fond of 
both ladies; as she kissed Mary, she scanned her toilet 
critically — she always took notice how other women were 
dressed ; if it were to judge of its becomingness, she had 
reason to be satisfied, be she ever so fastidious. Mary’s simple 
black dress was long and close-fitting, displaying to advantage 
her superb form, without ornament, save soft lace about her 
white throat and shapely wrists, and a cluster of snowy chrys- 
anthemums in the waving hair. Jennie looked from her to 
Bob, and was about to introduce them, when Mary spoke his 
name and smiled pleasantly. Bob, forgetting ceremony, 
stepped forward and offered his hand. I am afraid the grasp 
was warmer than he knew, for her soft eyes looked a trifle 
surprised, and the tea-rose tint on her cheeks deepened. 
Jennie’s eyes flashed interrogation points from one to the 
other, but Bob only said, dryly, 

“I am happy in having met Miss Lipscomb,” his deep 
voice quiet and non-committal; but about his mouth and 
eyes there was something so suggestive of fun, that Mary came 
near losing her gravity again. Jennie was all curiosity, but 
Mary did not explain, and she could not press the question 
of how and when they had met. 


‘‘our other boarder.” 7 1 

“You see, Mr. Dean,” said Mrs. Lipscomb, “we came to 
return your call quite soon.” 

Jennie opened her eyes wider, arched her brow, and nodded 
her head knowingly at Bob, who returned the salutation, but 
answered Mrs. Lipscomb only in his next words. 

“ I am obliged, but I fear I was not the attraction to-night." 

“ You ought to be glad to take the credit ; but, honestly, 
there was another. We came to see if Dr. Conway had re- 
turned." 

Mr. Brown took the task of responding upon himself. 

“ We have heard nothing from him. But, Miss Mary, you 
need not be uneasy — what did I tell you, while ago, Mr. 
Dean? don’t you see it ’s true? I forgot to tell you all there 
was a show in Rockdale to-night ; of course he stayed to see 
it; I’ve heard him say he always went to see the animals. 
Ki! ki! kil" 

“So he doesn’t confine his interest to lovely and loving 
specimens of his own kind?" said Bob to Jennie, who had 
taken a seat near him. She laughed, but made no answer, 
which Bob did not notice, for he was looking at Mary, who 
had flushed painfully under Mr. Brown’s jest, and raised her 
slender hand to hide her cheeks, in a nervous way. 

“I felt so anxious about that operation, I made Mary come 
with me to see about it," said Mrs. Lipscomb, touching with 
her forefinger the disfigured cheek. 

“I don’t see how you can entertain the idea of having it 
performed. As long as it did not hurt, I ’d let it alone." 

“ Oh ! don’t say so, Mrs. Brown," exclaimed Mary; “I’ve 
had so much difficulty in persuading mother to have it taken 
off. I can hardly feel like it is mother with that on her face." 
The last in a low, tender tone, with a tremor in the sweet 
voice. 


72 


BOB DEAN. 


“I agree with you, Miss Lipscomb,” said Bob, quickly, 
“ if the trouble is simply a wen, there can be little or no 
danger in having it removed.” 

“ By-the-by, I believe you are something of a doctor your- 
self, ain’t you, Mr. Dean?” queried Mr. Brown. 

‘ * Not yet, sir. I have chosen surgery as a profession, and 
have had a little practical experience in the hospitals while 
attending lectures ; but I do not yet append the M. D. to my 
name.” 

“And do you think there would be no danger?” asked 
Mary, appealingly; “ I want it done, so much.” 

“None whatever. If the operator were skilful, I should 
not debate the question a moment. I hold that one has no 
right to suffer a deformity like that to remain a blot on his 
comeliness. Miss Jennie, don’t you think it is everybody’s 
duty to look his best, out of charity to his neighbor?” 

I am afraid his thoughts were not of Jennie Brown’s best 
looks, though his smile was for her, and her conscious blush 
showed she appropriated to herself any complimentary allu- 
sion his remark might contain. She let her eyes fall as she 
answered innocently : “I always look as nice as I can.” 

“ I believe you.” 

“You may think as you please about it,” said Mrs. Lips- 
comb, “ but the looks are a small matter to me. Mary wants 
the wen cut off, and I promised her I would have it done, 
and now I want it over with. I wish Dr. Conway would 
come home and attend to his business.” She looked as little 
concerned as her words indicated. 

“I believe that is he now,” exclaimed Jennie, as the hall 
door opened and there followed the sound of putting down 
packages and the jingle of a spur thrown on the floor. Her 
impulse was to go forward to receive him, but second thought 
waited for her mother to do so. 


**0 UR OTHER BOARDER.” 73 

He came in leisurely, greeting the assembled party with 
grace, and acknowledged the introduction to Bob in so 
hearty a manner as to win a kindly feeling from that person 
at once. When he recognized Mary Lipscomb, he made a 
long stride to her, stood close, and took her hand, holding it 
a thought too long. And she, beautiful woman, so self-pos- 
sessed and well poised, was still self-possessed, but the full 
eyes went up to his with shy gladness, then straightway fell 
under the white lids, while the dimples, in cheek and chin, 
hid among the blushes in a way more befitting a school-girl 
than the stately woman whom Bob Dean was watching with 
intense interest — watching too closely this time for his own 
comfort, for he saw the silent play of feeling and read it aright, 
while his heart sank in his bosom, down, down, down. His 
were not the only eyes on the alert. Jennie’s truant heart 
thumped against her snug-fitting basque, and a chill ran down 
to the ends of her tiny toes. 

The Doctor now crossed over the room to greet her, shook 
hands cordially, and beamed brilliant smiles, but his eyes 
scarcely met hers, and his words were embarrassed. Having 
finished his greetings, he seated himself by Mary Lipscomb. 

Dr. Duval Conway was just such a man as doubtless we 
have all known in the course of our lives. Not that he w r as 
commonplace, yet such characters as his are common enough. 
You will realize what I mean as you get acquainted with him. 
To look at, he was an agreeable specimen of the genus homo. 
Quite above average height, with broad, grand shoulders, 
massive head, whose tawny hair was close cut and curling, 
habitually bent forward as if to plead forgiveness for being so 
obtrusively handsome. His forehead was very white where 
the hat protected it, but the rest of his face was richly bronzed 
with “Texas tan.” Deep eyes, blue and thrilling, and a lux- 
7 


7 4 


BOB DEAN. 


uriant brown beard, sweeping down over his chest, finished a 
personnel which, Agamemnon like, “cast in the mould of 
Titans,” was well able to move the heart of a woman; and 
that Mary Lipscomb’s heart was stirred, a close observer 
could readily perceive, though her quiet dignity had asserted 
itself again. The Doctor had seated himself and her on a 
tete-d-tete in the corner opposite Jennie and Bob, and rather 
behind the others. Their words were commonplace enough, 
but his eyes spoke volumes of ardent longings, and she could 
not meet them calmly. The very fact that the white lids 
covered her sweet eyes, which were wont to look so candidly 
on a speaker, told bitter truths to Jennie Brown, who keenly 
watched them, while she pretended to take interest in the 
round talk of the room — told more than the truth, for, though 
commonplace, those words were low toned, and Jennie be- 
lieved they were love words. With burning eyes and white 
face she drew her chair still nearer to Bob Dean, and talked 
with a dignity that was new to her. Coquetry was banished 
for the time, and she led the conversation into channels 
which he had deemed beyond her depth, evincing a mental 
culture for which he had not given her credit. Bob believed 
he understood the feelings which were prompting her, and 
while his respect was deepened, down in his heart there grew 
up for her a great pity — a pity born of sympathy. She shot 
an occasional glance over at the couple in the corner. 

The Doctor was now showing Mary a catalogue of Centen- 
nial illustrations which he had brought home with him ; the 
book lying in her lap, he sat quite near her, and his hand 
rested on the leaves, while his words were inaudible to any 
but his listener, and her looks were fair, beyond the power 
of words to tell. 

Jennie’s nature begins to assert itself, and her tactics to 


75 


"our other boarder." 

change. She talks on, but the topics are of lighter matter, 
and her sparkling coyness copies back. Bob understands her 
again, and meets her advances with as much semblance of 
flirtation as their limited acquaintance makes decorous. He 
has a decided advantage over the other players in this little 
drama, for he is partially in the dark, and can see the lines 
of their faces while his own features are but imperfectly re- 
vealed. He is becoming more and more interested. I am 
afraid his part is hardly fair, but the situation is fast assum- 
ing the aspect of love and w’ar, where fairness is out of the 
question. 

Directly Mary glanced over at them, and a gleam of friendly 
fun lit her face while she spoke to her companion. His 
eyes followed hers, and Bob Dean thought he detected a 
shade of something uncomfortable in their expression. It 
soon passed away, but left him preoccupied, and from that 
time his tete-a-tete flagged. Note here a phase of Dr. Con- 
way’s character — nor is it uncommon. Whenever he began 
to suspect he could not have a thing he coveted, he immedi- 
ately found himself unable to be happy without it ; willing 
to leave that already attained, he would throw his whole en- 
ergy in quest of the seemingly unattainable. In general, the 
difficulty soon yielded ; for few things in this life will long 
withstand such an onset — those kind of things I mean that 
Duval Conway would desire or seek — things pertaining to his 
personal ease, the goodwill of men, and the heart of woman. 
Seeing Jennie Brown intensely interested in Mr. Dean, he 
suddenly found that he wanted her himself. Rising, he 
crossed over to her and said, 

“ Come now, Miss Jennie, we have had no music to-night.” 

“Oh, Dr. Conway, get Miss Mary to play now. I don’t 
like to play where she is — I don’t do it well enough;” her 


BOB DEAN. 


76 

shrug and frown plainly indicating that she did not wish to be 
interrupted. 

“ After awhile, I will ; but I want you now,” said he, lay- 
ing stress on the pronoun ; and he opened the piano, lit the 
candles, brought a book of music, then stood and waited in a 
manner that admitted no denial. Still Jennie lingered, wait- 
ing to finish what she was saying to Bob. She so evidently 
wished him to accompany her to the instrument, that he took 
his stand on her left, while the Doctor was on the right. 

“ What shall I play, Dr. Conway?” she asked indifferently, 
toying with the keys ; then, before he could answer, turned 
to Bob. “Mr. Dean, are you fond of music?” 

“ Indeed I am, Miss Jennie. There is but one thing in the 
world I love better.” 

“Pray, who is that?” Jennie’s eyes are full of wonder. 

“I think that is hardly a fair question, lady.” Bob laughed, 
for he knew they would not guess he was talking about his 
precious mother. 

“ Oh ! ” and her black lashes swept burning cheeks; the cun- 
ning child felt Dr. Conway’s eyes upon her, and looked up to 
catch the significant glance which he passed to Mary, who had 
joined the group at the instrument. He had arranged on the 
rack “ In the Twilight Glade,” a tender duet, which they had 
often sung together, each throwing in much counterfeit pathos, 
after the manner of folks who are making believe love. But 
this evening she pushed it away. 

“Oh, no; not that. I don’t feel the least bit sentimental 
to-night. Let ’s have something we can all sing. Miss Mary 
will help. Do you sing, Mr. Dean?” 

“ Sometimes.” 

“Yes? I’m so glad. Will you take the tenor? Oh, that 
is splendid. Here is a lovely quartette. Doctor and I have 


“our other boarder.” 77 

practised some. Miss Mary, you know it — ‘ To Shady Wood- 
lands Stealing.’ Just a little difficult.” 

Bob had taken up the notes to examine, and when he 
replaced them, Jennie played through the prelude ; then 
wheeling round to Mary, who stood behind her, said : 

“ Miss Mary, won’t you please play this accompaniment. 
I never can get the time right when I sing alto — and I ’ve 
got the fidgets anyway, to-night.” Rising, she pressed Mary 
into her place, giving the Doctor a triumphant glance as she 
did so. Compared with poor, flushed Jennie, her friend 
looked refreshingly cool and self-possessed ; as her slender 
fingers touched the keys, she turned to Bob. 

“Are you familiar with the music, Mr. Dean?” 

“I am not, Miss Lipscomb. I believe I have not seen it 
before. But if you will run over the melody once, and give 
me the key-note, perhaps I can sing it.” 

A twinkle in her eyes gave him the clew to her thoughts, 
and he added, “ But it is I who am addicted to running over 
melodies and melodists.” 

Their mingled laughter brought upon them hasty questions. 
No use ; Mary turned assiduously to music, only the restless 
dimples displaying any hint of mirth. Soon all thought was 
lost in the beauty of the song. Mary’s voice was a pure 
soprano, with untried power in the upper notes; Jennie’s a 
clear contralto; the Doctor’s bass rich and full — not quite 
correct as to time, but fair for an amateur. But when Bob 
Dean’s tenor struck in, so flute-like and so perfect was it, the 
others had liked to have stopped to listen. Bob had culti- 
vated his voice thoroughly. In their poverty-stinted lives, he 
and his mother had made music one of their costless luxuries. 
Her vocation as a music-teacher of marked genius, gave her 
many friends among the guild, and Bob had the advantage of 
7 * 


BOB DEAN. 


78 

the best masters ; profiting thereby, he had not many supe- 
riors, outside the professionals, in his much-loved art. The 
quartette was followed by other selections, in which each par- 
ticipated, singly or in concert, until Mrs. Lipscomb inter- 
rupted them. 

“That is delightful; — but we must go home now, Baby.” 
She often gave to her beautiful woman-child this pet name ; 
it might have sounded silly but for the sweet intonation the 
mother-love blended with its syllables. Turning to the Doc- 
tor she added, “ When will you be ready for that operation ?” 

“ I can scarcely tell, madam. I expected to bring Dr. 
Norman over with me, but he could not leave a case he had 
on hand. I will see to-morrow if Dr. Winthrope can come 
and assist me.” 

“ Mr. Dean said while ago that he ’d had some experience 
in the business. Couldn’t he help in the job?” queried 
Mr. Brown. 

“I bow to my fellow-craftsman and the profession,” said 
Dr. Conway, gracefully extending his hand, over which he 
inclined low his superb head. 

“ Only in its incipiency,” laughingly returned the craftsman. 

“But really, Mr. Dean, I should be glad to secure your 
services. Any one with good nerve and only a slight experi- 
ence could render me all the assistance I require.” 

“ Thanks. I am flattered by your request, and am at your 
service.” 

“You place me under obligations,” returned the Doctor. 

“ If you two are done with your oriental compliments, we 
will bid you good-night,” said Mary. 

“ Just a moment more, if you please, Miss Mary. What 
time will suit you, Mr. Dean, in the morning? but you are 
at school? no? to-morrow is Saturday, that’s a fact — we 


“our other boarder.” 79 

don’t have Saturdays in our profession, you know. Well, 
let ’s say ten o’clock in the morning.” 

His words were light and careless, but there was solicitude 
in the glance that scanned the faces of Mrs. Lipscomb and 
her daughter ; the former, with raised eyebrows and forefin- 
ger on lip, was calculating whether she could have her sponge 
set for the day’s baking by that time. But, though Mary 
tried to appear calm and cheerful, her sweet lips were trem- 
bling and her eyes were shaded with solicitude. She now 
threw over her dark hair some fleecy covering, as an initia- 
tory step of departure. Dr. Conway came to her side, saying, 
“1 will see you home; ” and, without waiting for her per- 
mission or the cover of the outer darkness, took her hand, 
and placing it on his left arm offered the other to her mother, 
and carried them out, his manner leaving no doubt in Bob’s 
mind that he had asserted only what he considered to be his 
right. Mr. and Mrs. Brown had preceded their guests to the 
hall door, and did not return to the parlor. Bob looked at 
Jennie. She was standing on the rug, her little hands tightly 
locked over her breast, the childish lips hard compressed, and 
a gleam of something near akin to ferocity in her big, dusky 
eyes. Her wounded heart had mastered her cunning for 
once, and she did not even try to conceal her pain from Bob, 
who, seeing her about to close the piano, came to her assist- 
ance. While she put away the candles and straightened the 
cover over the piano she did not speak nor look at him ; but 
he knew she was only afraid to trust her voice except to say 
“ good-night,” as she went up the stairs to her own room. 
This was adjoining Bob’s ; and when he went up soon after- 
wards all was silent, and there came no gleam of light through 
the keyhole of the locked door between them. 

He felt restless and miserable, so he wrote a letter to his 


8o 


BOB DEAN. 


mother, his unfailing comforter. Just as it was finished Dr. 
Conway came home and up-stairs to his room, opposite 
Bob’s. As he was about to enter it he changed his mind, 
and tapped at Bob’s door. 

“ Come in ! ” 

“Thanks! No; I will not sit down,” he said, as Bob 
handed him his own easy-chair. “ I was up late last night in 
Rockdale. Went to hear Dr. Young on temperance. Ever 
hear him ? No ? Well, I determined I would not be made 
to laugh at his nonsense, but, ’pon my life, I could n’t help 
it. He talks solid sense, and so well, he gains your attention 
and good-will, and then he throws in the fun before you have 
time to get back on your dignity, and you find yourself grin- 
ning like the rest of the simpletons. Well, I just dropped in 
to say I ’ve made all necessary arrangements for that opera- 
tion in the morning.” 

“Judging from appearance you will have a cool subject. 
She does not seem to allow her nerves to have any part in the 
business.” 

“Hasn’t got any, sir; you’re right, she is pluck to the 
backbone.” 

“I should judge her to be a brave, strong woman,” said 
Bob, quietly. 

“With a daughter in every sense worthy of her parent,” 
added the Doctor, with an embarrassed laugh and a caressing 
stroke to his fine beard. “ Really, Mr. Dean, I am glad you 
are so kind as to assist me in that little job to-morrow. Not that 
I shall positively need any help, you know ; but when one ’s cut- 
ting about the face, you never know when you may sever a little 
artery which might, at least, prove troublesome, and then it 
would be handy to have a person about who knows a thing or 
two without being told.” 


A GLEAM OF GOLD 


81 


He had been standing on the rug, watch in hand, while he 
talked. Now he shut it with a snap, and pushing his white 
hand through his tawny curls, he took his huge person out of 
the door, saying: “You’ll find some extra blankets in this 
cedar chest in the hall ; you will need them before morning. 
Good-niglit ! ” 

When the door closed on him all was very still for a few 
moments, then Bob could hear a choked sobbing from the 
next room. 

“Poor, little thing, she has more heart than she cares to 
show. I don’t quite understand matters yet ; but she loves 
him , and he — ” Bob stopped in the act of drawing off his 
last boot — softly, lest he startle his little neighbor — and 
with the heel still in his hand, mused a moment. Then 
his cleft chin made itself a little broader, and he finished 
undressing and went to bed. 


CHAPTER VII 


A GLEAM OF GOLD, 


HREE o’clock, Saturday afternoon. The predicted 



l Norther had been forthcoming, and when Bob Dean 
awoke that morning, he found the household in an unusual 
stir, preparing for the hog-killing Mr. Brown had planned. 
During the day the family had been all so engaged that he 
had seen little of them. 

From his window now he could see eight large carcasses 
hanging, white and cold, on a bar nailed between the trunks 
of two neighboring post oaks. Around a fire in the yard 


F 


82 


BOB DEAN. 


near by, the family were still at work. Aunt Cindy, the 
cook, with her two sable daughters, Mat and Lizzie, were 
busy near the fire. Mr. Brown and two negro men were still 
slaughtering and cleaning. Mrs. Brown seemed to be in all 
the work at times, and occasionally Jennie would trip out of 
the kitchen with a great pan in her arms. A short skirt and 
stout little calf shoes exhibited the pretty, quick feet. A buff 
sun-bonnet, into which the curls were tucked, hid her face, 
but there was no lagging in her steps, no drooping look about 
her. Bob, seeing her from his window, thought of the sob- 
bing in the night and admired her spirit. 

The autumn had been unusually mild, and many of the 
leaves were still clinging to the trees, to be now torn away 
and whirled recklessly by the wind. Two, upon one stem, 
had lodged on the sill of the window, and were struggling 
there to free themselves from the detaining shutter, that they 
might go on in their wild revel. Bob raised the sash and 
released them. Had he been sentimental, he doubtless 
would have taken them in, and perhaps drawn some anal- 
ogy between them and his own lonely, yet entangled condi- 
tion. As it was, he simply let them fly, and put down the 
sash before the room should get cold. 

Bob Dean had no nonsense about him this afternoon. The 
surgical operation, projected for the forenoon had been per- 
formed, not altogether as well, either, as he or the Doctor 
could have wished. Dr. Conway was nervous, and as he had 
indeed seemed to apprehend, the lancet had slipped a trifle 
and severed a little artery near the eye, which at first bled 
profusely, but was soon checked. 

Bob saw Mary’s set lips, white face, and intense eyes, and 
fearing she would faint, took her two hands in his and led her 
to a seat. But the hands, though cold, were very firm, and when 


A GLEAM OF GOLD. 


83 

the Doctor could leave her mother he went to her, and speak- 
ing some low words of comfort, received for an answer such a 
look of trust as left poor Bob out of all consideration. 

As soon as Mrs. Lipscomb was comfortable, he excused 
himself and came home, leaving the Doctor to supply such 
panaceas as he had at command in case of need, for patient 
or her fair child. 

As he walked home alone, he met facts face to face, as well 
as the keen November norther. “I love her. I know it 
now, but it is no use. Strange, strange, that it should come 
to me now, and thus. I have often looked ahead to the time 
I should fall in love, but I never expected this sort of a knock- 
down. There is no hope for me; she loves that fellow with 
every atom of her heart ; and Jennie too, poor little Jennie. 
Strange that some men can have all the luck in love, while 
their neighbors get only blanks.” 

He was treading the same path he had walked on the last 
afternoon ; the same trees, fences, and houses around, the 
same sky overhead, but the coloring was gone. The sheen 
of the golden sun was wanting without, and the gilding of a 
new-born hope within his soul. There was only the gray, the 
neutral tint of ordinary life. I said “only,” but that is 
sombre enough to eyes that have just been shut out from a 
glorious illumination. The firm steps lagged a little, and his 
hand played about the strong lines of mouth and chin, then 
plunged deep into the gray overcoat pocket, while with 
uplifted head he finished his soliloquy. 

“But it is no use; and I am not the lad to sit down and 
bemoan a broken heart. I ’ve too much to do in this world 
before I am ready for the next.” 

lie found his room cold and cheerless, too, the usually 
genial fire represented only by dying embers and drifts of 


8 4 


BOB DEAN. 


ashes on the hearth. But his wood-box was well supplied, 
and he was used to waiting on himself. While cutting kind- 
ling from a pine board with his pocket-knife, the hint of a 
thought crept up that the fire-place was a fair picture of his 
love-life. He put the live coals together, laid on his kindling 
(and his hint of a thought with it), piled up the wood, and 
fanned lustily with his broad hat. Rewarded by a cheerful 
flame, he swept the hearth clean of gray ashes, and nodding 
his head several times finished the argument. 

“Yes, sir; that’s the way to do it! and we’ll see about 
the other matter, too.” Then he took out of his trunk some 
blank books, which he proceeded to check out in form suit- 
able for school-, roll-, and class-books. From this work he 
was called- to dinner. 

Jennie did not make her appearance at table, and when 
Bob asked after her welfare Mrs. Brown said, laughing, 

“ Jennie took an awful notion to be useful to-day — she ’s 
been pottering around in the lard and sausage-meat, and says 
she ain’t fit to be seen for grease.” 

“I should think not,” said Bob, dryly. 

“I don’t know what’s her notion — she never did love to 
work, and goodness knows she don’t need to if she’s not a 
mind to — something’s come oyer her.” 

Bob believed she was only avoiding him until he should 
forget last night. He had not seen her all day except at a 
distance, as breakfast was earlier than usual and she was not 
ready. 

Dinner over, he went back to his work up-stairs. When 
he finished ruling his blank books he took up a medical trea- 
tise, and had just settled himself to hard work when his atten- 
tion was attracted by the click of the gate-latch in the yard 
below. Looking out, he was surprised to see Jennie passing 


A GLEAM OF GOLD. 


85 

through, equipped as for a walk. When she turned to fasten 
the gate she glanced up to his window, nodded saucily, and 
tripped away, looking, oh, so pretty, with her pink cheeks and 
sparkling eyes. She went straight to the Widow Lipscomb’s. 
When inside the little front gate, she stopped to pluck a 
bunch of golden chrysanthemums which smiled up at her 
from the border, turned on her heel, poised as gracefully as 
a bird, and looked round the garden while she fastened the 
flowers at her throat and among her jetty curls. Cunning 
thing ! she had seen Dr. Conway at the window. He bowed 
as she approached, and opened the door for her, and Mary 
met her so immediately that she suspected her to have been 
standing beside him. She was now in the same faultless sit- 
ting-room that Bob had admired so much the previous day. 
Mrs. Lipscomb, on a lounge at one side of the fire, looked 
pleasant and only a little pale. Mary was the ideal home- 
goddess in her dark print dress, narrow linen collar and cuffs, 
with that beautiful crown of gleaming hair. 

“ How are you this afternoon, Mrs. Lipscomb?” said Jen- 
nie, dropping on her knees at the side of the lounge. 

“ Pretty comfortable, I thank you. The operation was not 
as painful as I expected.” 

“ Mother wouldn’t take chloroform, or she need not have 
felt any pain,” said Mary, as she untied and removed Jennie’s 
coquettish little turban, receiving a nod by way of thanks — 
said nod tumbling a yellow flower out of her curls, now uncon- 
fined by hat. She took the blossom from the floor, and laid 
it affectionately against her cheek. The gold and crimson 
complimented each other, and the effect was charming ; which 
fact was not lost on Dr. Conway, standing over on the rug. 

“ Not felt any pain then, perhaps,” said Mrs. Lipscomb, in 
answer to Mary’s remark, “ but been very sick afterwards, 
8 


86 


BOB DEAN. 


from nervous prostration. I think it best as it was ; don’t you, 
Doctor?” 

Being addressed, he came forward, and handed Jennie a 
chair, at the same time taking the flower from her, as if to 
smell ; but he did not return it as he answered, 

“ Well, madam, in your case, perhaps . But it is not many 
ladies could have borne the knife as you did. You only 
flinched perceptibly once ; and that is what caused me to clip 
that artery, which may give us trouble yet, and make us all 
wish you had submitted to anaesthesia. If all of us mortals 
were made of your clay, then had Wells and Morton lived 
and discovered in vain. Miss Mary, are you in any way 
related to this modern Cornelia?” 

“ Your comparison is faulty, Doctor. The mother of the 
Gracchi sacrificed her children, and mine would bear all the 
pain in her own person,” she answered, laughing. 

“You have not answered my question. Are you, too, 
brave ? ’ ’ 

Jennie could see the light in his fine eyes turned on her 
blushing friend, who looked at her mother as she answered, 

“ I do not know, sir. I have never been sick since I can 
remember, and I have never had much pain of any kind to 
try my fortitude.” 

She did not look, as she spoke, as if anything but sunshine 
had ever visited her happy life. Hers was a life of toil, but 
willing and well-appreciated toil. She had not yet found the 
curse in labor, for love went with it. The old people of the 
village praised her as a dutiful daughter, the “young” 
admired, and the little children loved her — all were kind, 
and gave her encouraging words as well as work. 

Why was it that both her mother and Jennie glanced from 
her to the Doctor, as she made her gentle boast, and a shade 


A GLEAM OF GOLD. 87 

of care settled on the former’s quiet face ? The Doctor saw 
it, and changed color. 

“Mrs. Lipscomb,” said Jennie, “mamma sent her sym- 
pathy and excuses by me. She has been very busy all day, 
about the hog-killing, but she will come to see you to-morrow. 
There is Mat, now, with some spare-ribs and sausage for you. 
You need not go, Miss Mary; she can find her way to the 
kitchen, and give the pan to Laura.” 

“Laura is not here to-day. Her grandmother, old Mrs. 
Vinson, is much worse, and they sent for her to-day.” 

The Doctor suddenly raised his head, as with a start of 
surprise, but checked the impulse into a genteelly suppressed 
yawn. 

“ So you are without help ! ” exclaimed Jennie. “ That is 
too bad, just now. I ’ll make Mat stay to help you, till Laura 
comes back; we don’t need her.” And the two girls went 
out, arm in arm. 

Such a contrast ! and both so charming, so interesting. 
Dr. Conway looked after them, then turned his eyes to the 
fire, and stroked his flowing beard. Mrs. Lipscomb lay still 
among her pillows, but the motherly eyes were very^ bright 
and very busy. When the girls returned to the parlor, he was 
standing on the rug, hat in hand, as if ready to take his 
departure, but he seemed to reconsider the step, and took a 
seat instead. 

“Miss Mary, will you be out to church, to-morrow? I 
hope so ; we can have some splendid music, now. Mr. Dean 
does sing so well;” and the rose changed to crimson, in 
Jennie’s deceitful little face. 

“ I shall not leave mother, Jennie. You can play the organ 
as well as I.” 

“No, I can’t let Mary go to-morrow,” said Mrs. Lips- 


88 


BOB DEAN. 


comb, turning her eyes towards her child, the light of her 
life. 

“ Well; I can’t play as well as you, but I suppose I can 
play somehow ; but then” — and the taper fingers play medi- 
tatively about the ripe lips — “my voice is so weak on soprano, 
I can’t lead — oh ! I know what I shall do. Mr. Dean shall 
lead. He sings like an angel;” and she clapped her hands 
in childish delight. 

“ You seem to think he possesses many angelic perfections,” 
said the Doctor, with a wry face. 

“Well, I think he is nice,” said Jennie, looking demurely 
on the floor; “ he does tell the truth so refreshingly .” 

“What pleasant truths has he been unfolding to you? and 
is the accomplishment so rare among your friends, as to render 
it worthy of note when found in a stranger?” the Doctor 
asked. 

A merry laugh from Mary, while Jennie retorted : 

“Rare! What? Oh, truthfulness. Well, I don’t know,” 
— then, brightening — “but I don’t consider Mr. Dean a 
stranger. We are great friends.” 

A gleam of pearl between the coral of her lips ; and the 
pretty head was turned on one side, with such an action as a 
bird might envy. 

“ Oh ! ” responded Dr. Conway, with elevated brows. He 
did not know that Jennie had been gone all the week, and 
had seen scarcely more of Mr. Dean’s attractions than he 
had, himself. 

Now, Jennie took out a watch of Liliputian dimensions, 
saying, 

“But I must go, now. Oh, Miss Mary, I have not shown 
you my lovely birthday present, papa brought me yesterday.” 
She handed her the little watch, letting the golden chain slip 


A GLEAM OF GOLD. 


89 


through her shapely fingers. It was a pretty little thing, but 
not more sparkling, figuratively speaking, than its diminutive 
owner. Was it the golden gleam of the jewel, or the prox- 
imity of her yellow flowers, that sent a flash of light over the 
Doctor’s face, as he leaned forward to look, too? Jennie had 
it in her hand again, and he quietly took possession of hand 
and watch, too, holding open the pink palm, and pretending 
to give close scrutiny to the jewel. Jennie flushed and trem- 
bled a little, then drew her hand away coldly. 

“Where did your papa get it? From some fairy work- 
shop?” queried he. 

“ No ; from Mr. Bland, in Rockdale. I miist go. Good- 
bye, Mrs. Lipscomb ; I hope you will soon be quite well 
again. Miss Mary” — as she kissed her, she whispered some- 
thing in her ear, but Dr. Conway could not even guess what 
it was ; nor could he hear the low answer, given with a smile. 
He had his hat again, and held the door open for Jennie, 
asking, 

“ May I see you home, Miss Jennie?” 

“Thank you, Doctor. I hope you do not think I came on 
purpose to take you home,” she said, laughing, and running 
down the steps, oblivious of his offered hand. 

The wind was still high, and during the homeward walk 
Jennie seemed too much occupied in combating for her veil 
to have more than a passing word for her companion. He, 
too, was preoccupied, and scarcely a dozen remarks had 
passed between them when the hall door of Mr. Brown’s 
house was closed behind them. The bluster shut out, she 
turned archly to speak to him, when she was arrested by the 
sound of music in the parlor; astonished, she paused to hear 
more. The strain was just finished, but a new one began — 
8 * 


90 


BOB DEAN. 


a plaintive prelude, played by a masterly hand, then the words, 
in rich, full melody, 

“ Oh, had I wings like a dove, I would soar 
Away from this world of care; 

My soul would mount to the realms above, 

And seek for a refuge there.” 

Jennie listened with finger on lip till the whole hymn was 
sung ; then, with hushed step, went up-stairs without a word to 
the Doctor. When she had .closed her door, he passed up to 
his room also. Shutting himself in, he stood a long time on 
the cold hearth smoking his meerschaum and spitting into the 
dead cinders. Finally he knocked the ashes out of his pipe 
and pulled his moustaches severely, as one harassed with 
troublesome thoughts — too troublesome it would seem for a 
man to harbor who was so eminently handsome, in such 
flourishing business, and who, moreover, had two girls in love 
with him, from either one of whom any other man in town 
would have been delighted to win a smile. There was the 
rub, in truth ; in love as in company it was about to come to 
pass that “ one more is too many.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 

T HE bell of the only church-house of C was clanging 

out its loud call to Sabbath-school. Here, as in most 
villages of Texas, the leading denominations had united in 
building a house of worship, and claimed the use of it “ Sun- 
day about.” The Sunday-school was also “ union,” and not 


ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 9I 

remarkable for any particular merit, except in its possession 
of a good “ Estey” organ and an excellent choir; which fact 
pleased the majority of the citizens amazingly, but left a re- 
spectable minority very bitter against “instruments in church, 
and a high-falutin choir monopolizing the singing — a-hurry- 
ing a body up on some notes like a race-horse, and squallin’ 
the others out like kingdom-come.” A third class liked scien- 
tific music and good time, which “you don’t get with no in- 
strument like you can with the human voice alone.” Some 
were for round notes ; some, fa— sol — la ; some, seven shapes. 
And so it had gone; each party failing in turn to maintain 
the supremacy it had been able to secure for a brief spell, till 
a few young people by pluck and money got the organ in, 
and drowned, by sheer and wilful sound, the dissensions, 
building up in course of time a band of music-loving spirits, 
who were able to carry the day. 

Already groups of young men and children were gathering 
about the house ; some frivolous girls, too, had gone on ; but 
the working part of the Sunday-school was still at home. 

Mary Lipscomb was looking out of the window at the 
people who passed — a shade of anxiety in her eyes belied the 
glad boast of yesterday. Though not pale, she looked weary; 
for her mother had passed a restless night, and moreover the 
house-work had all fallen upon her hands that morning. 
Jennie’s arrangement about the “colored lady” had proved 
a failure, said lady having silently asserted her view of free- 
dom by taking herself off as soon as the supper dishes were 
washed. But if the beautiful hands were weary, they were 
full of sweetness now — late roses, and chrysanthemums, yel- 
low, red, white, and purple, culled from the little garden for 
the vases on the mantle. After she had lovingly put them to 
their places in order, and given a finishing touch of neatness 


92 


BOB DEAN. 


to the hearth, she brought her rocking-chair to the rug, and, 
Bible in hand, sat down to read and rest. 

A step upon the porch. She opened the door to admit 
Dr. Conway. He was dressed unusually well this morning in 
a new suit, which yet displayed its original folds. The auburn 
hair and luxuriant beard were brushed to a state of perfec- 
tion ; linen immaculate ; and a suspicion of wood-violet about 
the cambric handkerchief he placed in his breast pocket as 
he entered. Nevertheless, Dr. Conway did not appear to his 
best advantage this Sabbath morning. There was a restraint 
pervading his manner, which, with a less graceful man, would 
have been pronounced as awkwardness. He took Mary’s hand 
in greeting, but released it sooner than was his wont ; took 
a seat, to almost immediately leave it again for his favorite 
stand on the rug. 

“How is Mrs. Lipscomb this morning, Miss Mary? can I 
see her? ” 

“She is sleeping, Doctor. She was restless during the 
early part of the night, and only went sound asleep near day- 
light, so I have not disturbed her; but I will now see if she 
has waked,” and she moved to the door, to return a moment 
later saying the patient still slept. 

“ Do not let her be disturbed — sleep is her best remedy. 
Restless, was she? did she complain of any pain? ” 

“ Not particularly; but I think she was feverish. Dr. Con- 
way, can there be any danger to mother ? ’ ’ 

The quaver in her low voice told the fear of her heart, even 
without the childish unbending of the lips. Dr. Conway was 
moved, and the hand he laid on her shining hair almost trem- 
bled, but he only said, 

“ No ; I think not, my child. I can tell you more about 
it in a day or two. I will call again on my way from church ; 


ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 93 

she will be awake by that time.” Then, as if to divert her 
mind, he continued in a lighter tone, “I wish you could go 
out to church to-day ; it is lovely, and everybody and his sec- 
ond cousins will be out to hear the new preacher. We will * 
miss you in the choir, too.” 

“Not .much, I presume. All the others will be there, and 
you will have Mr. Dean besides, who is something beyond 
our mundane capacity by Jennie’s estimation,” and a little 
smile lit the weary face. 

“The man can sing,” said the Doctor dryly, all warmth 
gone again out of his manner, and a stiffness beyond that he 
brought in possessing him. He had been in the act of taking 
a flower from the vase, but now he left it, and, drawing on 
his gloves, made his best bow and shut the door behind him, 
leaving an added shade in the sweet eyes which sought in the 
flame-lights of the hearth for a reason for heaviness of heart. 
He had a good view of her face and attitude as he went down 
the steps, and his moustaches were raised with a half trium- 
phant smile, and he stroked his beard fondly. At the gate he 
met Mr. Dean coming in. Holding open the little gate for 
the Doctor, he asked, 

“ How is Mrs. Lipscomb this morning? ” 

“I have not seen her. She is sleeping. Going to Sun- 
day-school?” asked the Doctor, glancing at the Bible in 
Bob’s hand. 

“I thought I would. Is Miss Mary at leisure? Do you 
suppose I could see her a moment without interfering with 
her duties? ” 

“I have just left her very busy, looking at the parlor fire. 
She is not going out this morning.” 

“No? Well, I should suppose not, else you would not 
be going alone.” Bob smiled pleasantly, and there was a 


94 


BOB DEAN. 


friendly look in his clear gray eyes, even if hissheart-strings 
were tugged by the belief that his jest was the veriest truth. 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Dr. Conway, flush- 
ing and trying to smile. He paused a moment longer, as if 
waiting ; then, as Bob went in and shut the gate, he walked 
on. 

He was exceedingly curious to know what Bob Dean 
wanted here this morning, but good breeding forbade a 
direct question. He, like many other men who never recog- 
nize the fact in themselves, was a little superstitious, and it 
was unpleasantly ominous to him that a single turn of that 
little gate on its hinges should shut him out and Bob in. He 
gathered his beard in his hand and went, not towards the 
church, but back to Mrs. Brown’s. 

When Bob came opposite the window of the sitting-room, 
Mary saw him and came to open the door before he rapped. 

“ You look tired this morning, Miss Mary. How are you ? ” 
he asked, laying in her hand a cluster of crimson forest leaves 
he had gathered in an early walk that morning. 

“ Quite well, I thank you. These are so pretty,” she said, 
touching their glossy surfaces with fondness, ere she placed 
them a glowing centre to her bouquet on the mantle. Then 
she took from it a cluster of the starry white chrysanthemums 
and gave him, saying: “ Gift for gift.” 

“Thanks! White for red. How is your mother this 
morning? The Doctor said she still slept.” 

“Yes, she is resting. She did not sleep much last night.” 

“ Neither did her daughter,” said Bob,. scanning the pure 
face before him, now beginning to give plain evidence of 
weariness. “Won’t you please rest ? ” he added, leading her 
to the easy-chair by the fire. 

“I am not suffering,” she said, laughing; “but I hope 


ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 95 

you will excuse me for not asking you to be seated. I am 
inexcusably negligent of ceremony.” 

“I don’t think our acquaintance is destined to be very 
ceremonious, it was begun in so abrupt a manner.” 

“ No ; really, Mr. Dean, I pray you will excuse me for 
laughing that day, it is another of my bad habits. Mother 
used to scold me for it when a child. Please have a chair.” 

“The laughing is all right. I like to see people laugh 
when it comes from the heart, as does yours. As for sitting, 
I have not time at present. I called, Miss Mary, to make 
inquiry about your mother, and offer my services in any way 
they can be useful. If there is any night-watching to be 
done, I hope you will allow me to share the burden with 
your other friends. You must sleep at night.” 

“Oh, I am sure you are very kind ; but I hope mother will 
not be sick enough to need much nursing. Dr. Conway does 
not apprehend any danger. ’ ’ 

“ I hope there will be none, yet she may be feverish for 
several days. Is there anything I can do for you ? I suppose 
you know I have been assigned your place in the choir to- 
day?” 

“Yes, Jennie told me yesterday that she would press your 
services. She is very complimentary to your vocal powers.” 

“ Indeed ! She is very kind. I do love to sing, and my 
mother always loved to have me. Miss Jennie only spoke for 
effect, though.” 

Mary, looking up, was surprised at the moved expression 
of his face. Such a blending of conflicting emotions as was 
there portrayed — a tender pride and love for his mother, the 
pity for little Jennie that his words called up, and, above all, 
a repressed pain and the determined will to bear it. Mary 
at once began to wonder what the pain was about, and, like 


BOB DEAN. 


96 

any other woman, liked him better for having a trouble. She 
resolved to be very kind and friendly to him, but now she 
only said : 

“You asked if there was anything you could do for me ; I 
should like if you would take charge of my Sabbath-school 
class to-day. That is, if you like Sunday-school.” 

“Well, I do like Sunday-school,” he said, smiling; “I 
always attend. I shall be glad to have something to do there, 
this morning. I intend having a class, by-and-by, but want 
to get a little acquainted first. Have you any special injunc- 
tions to lay upon me?” 

“No; these are the lesson-papers,” she said, handing him 
a package from the book-shelf. “ The teachers all do as they 
please with their classes : our superintendent likes good sing- 
ing ; and then if the children answer the concert questions, 
he is perfectly satisfied. Almost every teacher has a different 
class-arrangement.” .- 

“If that is the system,” said Bob, laughing, “I think I 
shall be able to fall into some feasible plan.” 

“ Certainly you can ; at any rate you can keep them be- 
having, which will be worth a great deal.” 

“ Well, good-morning, Miss Mary. May I call this after- 
noon, to report your class’s behavior, and inquire about your 
mother ? ’ ’ 

“I shall be glad to see you; and so will she. Mother has 
taken quite a fancy to you.” 

“ She is very kind. I hope you will take a nap after I am 
gone, and not be looking so tired when I come again.” 

Mary watched him from the window, as he went down the 
street, towards the church. There was something so kindly, 
and at the same time so genuine about the man, that he had 
already won a good feeling from those of the community who 


ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 9 7 

had made his acquaintance ; and now, as he walked on, with 
the same business air he carried all the week, he received 
many pleasant greetings from those who were abroad, for 
worship or for pleasure. Presently he met a group of boys, 
taking the opposite direction. 

“ Good-morning, young gentlemen. Is that Houston? 
Clarence? Why, which way?” laying a kindly hand on the 
shoulders of the two he recognized. “Sunday-school is not 
over, is it? Am I so late?” 

The boys passed significant glances ; then the one he had 
addressed as Clarence answered him. 

“ No, sir. They have n’t begun yet. We boys were going 
for a walk.” 

Another one spoke out : “ I belongs to Miss Mary Lips- 
comb’s class, and I heard Dr. Conway say she wouldn’t be 
there to-day; and when she ain’t, Mr. Gooch alius sends old 
Miss Gibbs to hear our class, and she is so deef she can’t 
hear, nohow, and so I thought I wouldn’t go.” 

“Well, I have just seen Miss Lipscomb, myself, and she 
deputed me to take her place to-day. See ! here are your new 
lessons. Suppose you all go back to Sunday-school and 
church with me, this morning, and, if you like, I will walk 
with you, this afternoon.” 

“All right,” answered the boy. “I jist go to Sunday- 
school because I like to look at Miss Mary. But I ’d as lief 
hear you talk as not, and I never do know my lesson, nohow. 
Come on Clarence. You better come too, John — you and 
Steve.” 

“I believe I don’t care to go this morning,” answered the 
youth addressed ; “ Steve and I will go on down to the creek.” 
And as Bob and his two recruits pursued their way, he added 
in a low, but audible tone, “ he don’t come none of his sneak- 
9 G 


BOB DEAN. 


98 

ing, Methodist ways over me. Houston and Clarence are 
caught nice, now, ain’t they? They’d give their hats to get 
off.” 

The boys with Bob looked at each other, and then Clarence 
spoke. 

‘‘He is mistaken, Mr. Dean, as for me. I am glad to go 
with you ; only you must not back out of walking with us 
this evening.” 

“No danger from me there,” said Bob, smiling. “You 
are to call at Mrs. Brown’s for me after dinner if you want 
me; but if you conclude to back out, why, just don’t come, 
and I shall ask you nothing about it to-morrow.” 

“ ‘A-greedy,’ as my brother, Robert Lee, said this morn- 
in’ when the new preacher took the chicken gizzard of’n the 
plate, when he wanted it hisself,” and the lad, Houston Lud- 
wig, squinted his prominent blue eyes between their sandy 
lashes, and producing a bran new “ nigger-shooter ” from the 
voluminous stock of varieties stowed in his breeches’ pocket, 
proceeded to take a “bead” on the shining beaver of a 
much dressed legal gentlemen who was just passing the cross 
street ahead of our friends. But by the time the whizzing 
pebble projected had struck with a thwack, the boy was 
studiously perusing his Sunday lesson, which he coolly took 
from Bob Dean’s hand at the opportune moment. It chanced 
that this lesson was on the seventeenth chapter of I. Samuel, 
and he drawlingly read aloud : “ And David put his hand in 
his bag and took thence a stone and slang it, and smote the 
Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead, 
and he fell upon his face to the earth. So David prevailed over 
the Philistine with a sling and a stone, and smote the Philistine 
and slew him, but there was no sword in the hand of David.” 

Bob could not help laughing as he remonstrated, “ But 
David’s sling was not a ‘nigger-shooter,’ Houston.” 


ONE TURN OF A GATE ON ITS HINGES. 99 


“ Reckin not ? But he would a had one if he ’d knowed 
how to make it.” 

“And Mr. Arbuckle is no Philistine,” said Clarence. 

“ He thinks he ’s bigger ’n any Goliath. But then I ain’t 
David either, so the ’nalergy is lost for want of resemblance, 
as Mr. Dean remarked Friday, when I said in my composi- 
tion that my sense was like a tarantuler, because it could go 
in any direction ’thout takin’ time to turn round.” 

Though the others laughed, Houston did not even smile, 
being engaged in adjusting the forked stick of his weapon 
over his own freckled nose, and drawing the rubber band 
under his chin. Then puffing out his cheeks, he made a 
long, shrill whistle, put his “nigger-shooter” in his pocket, 
and subsided into a respectable dignity before they reached 
the church door. 

When they went in the choir was just beginning to sing. 
Jennie was playing the organ, but was restlessly watching for 
Bob’s appearance. He took his place by her side in time to 
bear up her voice in the second stanza. When the third was 
begun, many faces were turned towards them, attracted by the 
pure, full tones, that it seemed might swell to the heavens 
without trying their power. Dr. Conway was by his side, 
and could not but notice how Jennie caught her breath and 
stopped to listen. But as for Bob himself, he was all uncon- 
scious of the sensation he was creating, for, as he had told 
Mary, he loved to sing, and when he sang he did nothing 
else. His soul was in the music, and he, for the time being, 
had as little of earthly thought about him as if he had been 
the very angel to which Jennie had compared him. But Dr. 
Conway did not enjoy the music so well as to fail to take 
note of the white flowers he held so tightly between the 
thumb and finger of his right hand, and he, the Doctor, 


100 


BOB DEAN. 


would have given a good deal to know whether he had him- 
self plucked them from the border inside the little gate where 
they grew, or had received them a gift from another. 

The song ended, the classes were distributed, and Bob soon 
had his hands full, figuratively speaking. Mary’s class, to- 
day in his charge, consisted of eleven boys between fourteen 
and seventeen years of age. A strange class for a young lady, 
you think. It came to pass thus: They had had several 
teachers, and had been neither attentive nor orderly. The 
superintendent was about to give them in charge of an elderly 
gentleman of the body, when the boys rebelled, saying 
they would quit if he took the class. Then the officer, 
who was of yielding temper, fond of peace and popularity, 
proposed they should elect a teacher from the Bible-class 
consisting of young ladies and gentlemen. Houston Ludwig 
proposed Miss Mary Lipscomb, and the boys elected her by 
acclamation. The superintendent was nonplussed, but agreed 
to submit the case to Miss Mary’s choice. When the circum- 
stances were related to her, after pondering the matter a mo- 
ment, she quietly announced her intention of accepting the 
honor, saying: “l believe I can manage them, Mr. Gooch, 
if you are willing.” 

She was forthwith installed, and had managed them so suc- 
cessfully, that Mr. Gooch immediately concluded to give all 
his troublesome classes to young ladies. He had placed one 
in charge of Jennie Brown, but a few weeks later was disgusted 
at finding all the little boys had deserted their class, and their 
places were filled by young men from the Bible class, and that 
they and Jennie were having a “good time.” He stopped 
the proceeding, at which Jennie took offence, and had not 
put in her appearance since, until this morning, when she 
came to show off her mother’s new boarder, whose simple 


BEATRICE. 


IOI 


presence in the house would be considered as equivalent to a 
conquest on her part, by those who were acquainted with her 
charms and habits. Now Mr. Gooch came forward, and made 
so much of her, that Jennie, who loved flattery too well to 
remain long angry with any one, graciously consented to take 
her old place in the Bible-class. 

Dr. Conway plead the calls of his profession as an excuse 
from regular attendance, but to-day he, too, joined the class. 
To little purpose, though, for Jennie was blindly oblivious of 
his presence, and attended to her lesson so assiduously, that 
Mr. Gooch upbraided himself with not having given her 
justice in his estimation of her ability. The Doctor amused 
himself with watching Bob, over in the corner, talking to his 
boys, who were, for once, giving attention to the matter in 
hand. He even envied Bob his enthusiasm in the work. 
When the morning services were over, Bob left in advance of 
the others, and walked home alone. 


CHAPTER IX. 

BEATRICE. 

D O you smoke?” 

“Not now, thank you.” 

“So you do, sometimes. I am glad of it.” 

“And why?” 

“Oh, the thought takes away an implied reproach. Nothing 
spoils a good cigar so quickly as to have its fellow declined 
with a gentle wave of the hand, and a sanctimonious ‘I do not 
use the weed in any form.’ I suppose this form of vice, like 
9 * 


102 


BOB DEAN. 


misery, is social,” and Dr. Conway blew a perfect circle of 
the fragrant smoke up to the ceiling. 

“Then you cannot, like the notable divine, convince your- 
self that you * smoke a good cigar to the glory of God’?” 
asked Bob Dean. 

“No. I don’t try. Do you?” The Doctor’s words were 
careless, but his glance sought Bob’s face keenly. 

“ No, sir.” 

“Then you, too, smoke solely for pleasure.” 

“Again, no.” 

“Then, why do you smoke, if you please?” 

“I don’t.” 

“ The deuce you don’t! What a man! Well, then, why 
don’t you? I feel in an investigating frame of mind, and, 
like Rosa Dartle, I ask for information.” 

“ I like to give information. I acquired the habit once, 
but found it annoyed my mother — she is troubled with 
asthma — so I left it off rather than deprive myself of her 
company.” 

“I think I should appreciate a good mother” — puff — 
“gone out — another match, please — thanks” — puff — puff — 
“I have never had one as far as practical knowledge would 
certify ; but she would need to be a model of comfort if she 
would make up to me for the pleasure I get out of smoke ” — 
puff-f-f'f. 

Dr. Conway was the embodiment of comfort as he sprawled 
his magnificent person in front of Bob Dean’s fire this Sunday 
afternoon. Dinner on Sunday at Mrs. Brown’s was always 
immense, and both of our friends having partaken liberally 
to-day, they were in condition to enjoy easy chat by the fire, 
free from the restraint of ladies’ society. The Doctor had 
donned his dressing-gown, a marvel of cashmere, silk quilt- 


BEATRICE. 


103 


ing, and tassels; but Bob, after removing his coat, had sat 
down “ in his shirt sleeves,” as the ladies say. He too had a 
nice gown packed away in his trunk, but he never put it on 
if he could help it. Now, with hands clasped behind his 
curly pate, and big feet beating time to the momentum of his 
rocking-chair, he looked no less comfortable than the man 
beside him — perhaps no less graceful, if well-knit muscle 
might count instead of delicate moulding. 

‘ ‘ I pity the man who never had a mother,” said Bob, tak- 
ing his hands down and unconsciously opening a locket which 
hung from his chain. Dr. Conway reached for it and looked 
at the sweet face it inclosed. 

“ This is yours. Very like you. She thinks a deal of you 
I should judge.” A smile answers the remark; but Bob 
continues, 

“Then you may have to make the same sacrifice for some 
other lady.” 

“ No, sir ; never ! my girl must like smoke ; if she does n’t 
she will have to take to it or my allegiance is out with a 
puff-f-f.” 

“Don’t boast, man, unless you know your ground. Per- 
haps you have already ascertained the lady’s taste? ” 

The question was not premeditated, but still Bob hoped 
the answer might give him some light on the portentous query 
which he was ever settling, only to be unsettled the next mo- 
ment by his fluctuating hopes — whether Mary Lipscomb had 
committed her heart irretrievably into Dr. Conway’s keeping. 

“ Ha ! ha ! Really that is hardly a level question ; but — 
well I don’t mind saying that the taste is all right if I could 
only ascertain which were the lady.” He shut his eyes while 
he rolled out a volume of smoke. 

“If I have been rightly informed, that ought not to be 


104 


BOB DEAN. 


hard to decide. I understand you have only to reach forth 
your hand to pluck the fairest flowers of this promising com- 
monwealth.” 

“Pshaw! somebody has been allowing his imagination a 
fearless flight” — puff— puff. The Doctor tried to conceal 
the smirk which betrayed his gratified vanity ; he knew it 
was bad taste to be pleased. “ I say, Dean, were you ever 
at a loss what to do simply because you knew you could do as 
you pleased ? because the choice lay entirely with yourself 
found yourself unable to choose?” 

Did the man mean that he might have Mary Lipscomb’s 
love if he chose, but debated whether he would accept it ? 
Heavens! how Bob’s blood surged; but he kept himself 
down, and answered the spoken words only. 

“No, Doctor, I do not remember ever to have had a per- 
fectly free choice. My circumstances have always forced 
themselves on me, or I had to make them to order. As far 
back as I can recollect, I have known beforehand what I would 
do if only I could bring events about to make my purpose 
feasible. ’ ’ 

“ Well, it has been different with me. I have always been 
a lucky fellow without much deserts, and have found myself 
continually called upon to decide between two or more pleas- 
ant things, which I was always unable to do, because unwilling 
to forego either, and which invariably resulted in not deciding 
at all, but just drifting along until events decided themselves. 
And I should not be surprised if it turned out that way in this 
case too — puff-f-f.” 

A caged beast was tearing around in Bob Dean's bosom. 
He would have given a month’s salary out of his labor money 
to enjoy the privilege of planting the square toe of his number 
eight boot in Dr. Conway’s smirking mouth, and not have to 


BEATRICE. 


105 


take himself to task for it afterwards. Poor Bob ! He had 
prided himself for several years back upon having every 
impulse of feeling under perfect control, now he finds him- 
self a very child, whose temper is ruthlessly jarred by words 
light as air. Talk of a man knowing his own nature before he 
falls in love, or of controlling the tenor of his passion after he 
does ! He poured out and drank a glass of water, then walked 
to the window. 

“ Where did you get that? It is a remarkable face.” 

“That” was a crayon drawing of a woman’s head in a 
mounted frame standing on the mantle shelf. Dr. Conway 
had risen and was inspecting it. The face was a curious 
admixture of dreamy alertness, dark, spiritual, not beautiful, 
but fascinating. 

“It is the portrait of a friend of mine in Austin, a very 
interesting young lady, as her features indicate.” 

“ Not a photograph?” 

“No; crayon. She is an artist, and drew it herself before 
a mirror.” 

“Of course, flattered the original,” said the Doctor, with a 
smile. 

“ Somewhat, and yet hardly. She has exaggerated the 
expression of the eyes, while she loses much of the vivacity 
of outline.” 

“Are you well acquainted? Intimate?” 

Bob’s looks indicated that he thought the Doctor imperti- 
nently curious, but his answer was quiet and seemingly easy. 
“ We saw a good deal of each other a few months ago while 
rehearsing for a cantata — a charity benefit. Some tableaux 
followed, in which she represented the picture of Beatrice de 
Cenci. It suited her face, and I told her so, at the same 
time remarking that I would like to have her portrait, en cos - 


io 6 


BOB DEAN. 


tume. Soon afterward she sent me this, hence the attitude 
and apparel.” 

“ Yes, yes, I see. And the name * Beatrice ’ written below, 
and something else in — What is the language? Spanish?” 

“ Italian,” said Bob, smiling ; but he did not translate the 
sentence for the Doctor. “ Hist ! some one calls.” 

“ I suppose it is somebody after me. I never fixed myself 
up right comfortably since I entered my professional career, 
but I was wanted immediately.” Going to the front window, 
he added, “ Yes, it is for old Mrs. Vinson. I know the boy.” 

He raised the sash and answered that he would be down 
directly, and, expressing regret at resigning his comfortable 
quarters, he was gone. In a few moments he passed out of the 
stable- yard gate on his strong sorrel horse, and rode off in a 
gallop. 

Bob had hardly settled himself comfortably for reading 
when his boy friends, as by appointment, came to claim ful- 
filment of his morning’s promise. After trudging nearly two 
miles through the yet brilliant woods of Black-Jack, Post 
Oak, and Haw, and contriving to instruct as well as amuse 
his young companions, he dismissed them and started home 
by another road. He wanted to be alone and to walk rapidly, 
the best panacea he had ever found for a mind disturbed. 
But presently he reached a place where the road divided, and 
having some doubt which was his way, he turned aside to 
make inquiry at a house which stood about a rod off the road. 
He little thought these unwitting steps, taken without debate, 
would place in his hands the first link of a chain of circum- 
stances, whose tangled conclusion should be many days hence. 
As he approached the house he observed with surprise that 
Dr. Conway’s horse was tied to the rail fence in front, and 
on coming nearer he recognized the “ tow-head ” sallow- faced 


BEATRICE. 


107 

lad who was lounging on the fence as the same who had, a 
few hours ago, called at Mrs. Brown’s for the Doctor. Bob 
had now, however, no opportunity of further acquaintance 
with him ; for when the boy saw him approach he slid down 
from the fence and disappeared behind the corn-crib in the 
corner of the yard, and a moment later his tow-head and sal- 
low face, in company with two lesser ones of the same pattern 
and color, protruded from the hiding-place with the purpose 
of taking another view of the stranger. But when the eyes 
which belonged to the several heads caught his own, they 
again retreated behind their fortification, only to repeat the 
exploit a moment later. Bob smiled ; for he had not been 
enough in the country to learn that this conduct was not un- 
usual in the juvenile Texans of the rural districts. 

The house was what is known as a “double-log” — two 
rooms built near together, with the passage between covered 
overhead and in this instance without floor. It stood with 
its gable to the road. There was no gate, but in the line of 
the path approaching the house the fence was lowered to three 
rails. Over this Bob stepped, and passing round the first 
building was about to call to make his presence known, when 
a young girl came out of the further room with a bucket, 
which she took to the well to fill. She did not see him, and 
he supposing there was sickness in the house did not desire 
to disturb the family unnecessarily, so he waited until she 
should return. He observed that the girl was slight, and 
moved with a swift, light step. Presently she came back with 
the water, and, seeing him, set down the bucket and came 
forward. Her appearance was peculiar ; — her face was pale 
and sallow, her hair dull, her features pinched ; but her eyes 
were big, blue, and staring. They were so wide open and 
bright as to look almost wild. She did not speak, and before 


io8 


BOB DEAN. 


Bob addressed her she signed to him that she was deaf, but 
would go in and bring some one to talk to him. Her absence 
was prolonged until his patience was exhausted. He called 
twice, but got no answer ; whereupon, he walked around to 
the other side of the house. Here was a rude porch, where 
some attenuated balsam vines had clambered, which were now 
brown and sere. Standing here, prodding a pair of rusty 
scissors in the box of mould which had nourished the vines, 
was a young woman. By her side stood Dr. Conway, hold- 
ing one of her nervous, red hands on the edge of the box 
with his slender left, while his right arm lay around her form. 
His head was bent forward until his beard touched her face. 
There was no doubt that he was making love to the poor girl. 
Behind them in the doorway, silent and motionless as if 
chained to the floor, was the deaf-mute. Her eyes met 
Bob’s, and a significant look passed which plainly said they 
viewed the scene alike. The wind was blowing smartly 
toward Bob, and the lovers did not hear his approach. He 
had no desire the Doctor should know he had witnessed his 
love scene, so he stepped back out of sight and called, 

“Hello!” 

Dr. Conway came quickly to the end of the porch. 

“Hello ! Why, Dean, is it you? What in the world are • 
you doing in these parts ? I should expect to find you in more 
congenial quarters, at this time.” 

“That is what I am now seeking. I came out for a walk, 
and am in some doubt concerning my way back.” 

Bob answered quietly, and his face was very grave. 

“Lost your way, hey? Well, I am glad you don’t know 
everything. You are only human, after all,” said the Doctor, 
laughing and stroking his luxuriant beard. 

“ I don’t know the roads in this country,” said Bob, dryly. 


BEATRICE. 


109 


“You would be pretty wise, if you did. With my experi- 
ence, I can claim only a sufficiency of information on that 
score. But up there at the forks, the right is your nearest 
way back to town.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Say! if you are not in a hurry, I will be through here 
presently, and will go with you. I have a patient out here,” 
— he stopped to feel in his breast-pocket for his cigars and 
match-case — “ an old lady I have been treating for some 
time,” — puff, puff — “and thought she was about off my 
hands, but this morning she relapsed, and I am afraid she will 
yet put to test the ‘great question.’ ” 

Bob Dean’s gray eyes were looking through and beyond 
the man talking to him, and he answered : 

“Thank you, Doctor; I will not trouble you; you are 
riding and I walking; we are not on equal grounds. Will 
you put me in the way to get a drink of water?” 

The Doctor’s eyebrows went up, and he turned to the young 
woman who had moved into sight behind him, and stood roll- 
ing the corner of her apron with nervous fingers, and drawing 
quick, heavy breaths ; his voice was gentle and insinuating 
when he addressed her : 

“ Miss Agnes, will you please get my friend some water? ” 

She turned slowly away, looking back suspiciously. 

Bob wanted to close the scene as soon as possible ; so he 
followed her around the house, toward the well. In an instant 
the mute girl came up and handed him the water ; she had 
understood his request by his lips’ motion, and flew in advance 
of her slow-stepping sister. As he took the gourd from her 
hand their eyes met. He could not read exactly what hers 
struggled to tell him, but saw that they were troubled and 
pleading. She perceived his doubt ; then she swept her hand 
10 


no 


BOB DEAN. 


over her chest, mimicking Dr. Conway’s habit of stroking his 
beard, glanced towards her sister, who was now leaning 
against the wall of the house, and pressed her fingers tightly 
together on her lips. He understood that she begged secrecy 
about what they had both just discovered. In the first flush 
of anger she had condemned them, to him, but now feared 
and plead for them. Bob bowed his head, and laid his hand 
on his heart. She smiled — a broken gleam, like a ray of light 
on a pool of sluggish, dark water — and her eyes spoke the 
thanks the poor thing could not utter. 

Dr. Conway saw the signs that passed between them, but 
erred in his interpretation. He thought she had wanted to 
be assured that Bob was an acquaintance of his, and that 
Bob’s heart gesture was to indicate friendship for himself. 

Ah, Doctor, your sight needs be keener now, if you would 
keep pace with these fast moving consequences of your du- 
plicity. 

Never had there been in his heart less feeling of friendship 
for any man than for Dr. Conway, as Bob Dean passed out 
of the yard and pursued his walk. His hands are thrust deep 
down in his pockets, his head bent forward, and the lines 
about his mouth are hard and stern. He even talks to him- 
self — a habit quite unusual with him. 

“ The man is a mere trifler, or worse ! I had thought bet- 
ter of him. He looks like a gentleman, but unless something 
is done about it, he will bring harm to that poor girl yonder, 
and perhaps much trouble to some other folks. And to think 
that she should love him ! Oh, Mary Lipscomb, dear treas- 
ure, must I give you up to him ? I have always said no man 
of honor would try to win another man’s sweetheart ; but 
you, pure-souled woman, you do not know him. And now, 
what ought I to do ? I wish I could talk it over with 
mother.” 


BEATRICE. 


Ill 


He plunged on with heavy strides, his brain-wheels and 
heart-strokes keeping time with the movement of his strong 
legs. When he came to the brook which purled across the 
road, he stooped and bathed his head in the cool water, and 
drying with his handkerchief, concluded, as he replaced it in 
his pocket, to “ wait a while and watch and think. I shall go 
to spend the Christmas holidays with mother, and we will talk 
about it.” By the time he reached home he had recovered 
his usual composure. 

When he came to the little front gate he found Jennie 
leaning on it, apparently watching for some one. Now Bob 
did not, for one moment, suppose it was for himself Jennie 
was waiting. On the other hand, he was quite confident Dr. 
Conway was the expected one, and the thought brought back 
upon him the full flood of bitterness. 

Be the truth told, it did not matter much to Jennie Brown 
which came first. She was lonesome, and wished some one 
(some one always meant some man ) would come. True, she 
loved Dr. Conway with the best part of her selfish little heart ; 
but she liked Bob, too ; and he was good-looking and interest- 
ing, and, more than all, was new , and might prove a conquest. 
Her heart was aching pretty sorely, and had been for some 
time, over the uncertainty of the Doctor’s status towards her, 
and she fain would soothe it with “ new worlds to conquer.” 
But she “counted without her host,” when she reckoned on 
a flirtation with Bob Dean in his present frame of mind. He 
had changed his opinion of that form of diversion since noon 
to-day; he had not had much experience in the line, and 
thought now that he would never extend his knowledge. 
But, then, he felt a great pity for the pretty little girl before 
him, and made a quick resolve to be a good friend to her. 
And what more does any woman want to win her way to the 


1 12 


BOB DEAN. 


heart of man than pity and Platonic friendship ? She held 
the gate fast and said : 

“Too late; gate’s closed, sir.” 

“What’s the toll?” 

“Iam like the highway robber — all you ’ve got.” 

What an opening for a gallant speech ! Poor Bob only 
said, “Here it is,” and handed her a bunch of lichens he 
had plucked coming through the woods. 

“ No, sir; that is not all. You ’ve a flower in your button- 
hole; I’ll take that, too.” 

Why did he blush and cover the drooping blossom with 
his protecting hand? only because it was the little chrysan- 
themum of the morning memory, and sacred — so sacred. 
He laughed, and said gently, 

“You can’t have this; fair fingers have touched it, and it 
is exempt from duty. I shall have to find a cheaper thorough- 
fare,” and laying his hand on the low fence he sprang over 
at a bound. 

“You ’re a nice man !” said she, pouting, “ to trespass on 
a lady’s domain like that.” 

“If my sins of trespass stop with that I think I shall find 
pardon.” 

“Are you contemplating some new vandalism? hope I 
sha’n’t be the victim.” 

“No; you will not be the victim, little woman,” said Bob 
with an undertone of tenderness in his deep voice. 

Jennie looked up in surprise. She had been talking at 
random, but now saw he was not. Instantly her face was 
suffused ; and, half in anger half in tears, exclaimed, 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Dean ? you are not jesting.” 

“No; I am not jesting. Just what I did mean perhaps I 
shall tell you some day ; but now let us make a ‘ paction,’ as 


BEATRICE. 1 1 3 

the Scotch say, and agree not to fall out with each other in 
the meantime. Will you shake hands on it ? ” 

“Yes,” said Jennie, all coquetry gone and for the time 
really in earnest. “ I would like you for a friend above all 
things,” and she laid her plump, brown hand in his broad 
palm. ‘ 4 What are the conditions? ” 

“ Mutual help and confidence,” said he. “ You are, on no 
account, to set yourself out to work against my interest, and 
I will watch over yours to the best of my ability.” 

Just then Jennie’s restless eyes fell on the white flower in 
his button-hole ; it furnished the clue to his meaning. She 
knew where he had gotten it. None of that kind grew any- 
where in town except at Mrs. Lipscomb’s. She remembered 
how his hand had shielded it from her threat a few moments 
ago. With these thoughts came a new revelation, namely, 
that their interests were in reality the same, and that Bob had 
indirectly referred to this. Her expressive face showed more 
of her thoughts than she knew; for, searching her eyes, he 
asked, laughing, 

“ Well, is it a bargain ? ” 

She looked deliberately and meaningly at him and answered 
a deep spoken “Yes.” 

“I will be true to you,” said he, giving the little hand a 
firm grasp ere he released it. 

Dr. Conway rode up in time to see the hand-clasping. 
Their faces were neither cool nor unconcerned, and the Doc- 
tor made another mistake in reading signs, and did not like 
the signs, either. Now he went round to the stable and tended 
his own horse; then, entering the house through the back 
hall, passed up to his room without meeting any of the family. 
He lit his pipe and seated himself by the window with his 
feet on the ledge. The autumnal sun was near setting, and 
io* H 


its golden sheen lit the landscape to a degree of beauty which 
might have delighted a more critical eye than Dr. Conway’s. 
The fact was he did not see it at all. His thoughts were 
troublesome, and he had seated himself with his narcotic 
comforter to “look at things a little.” Now you and I, 
reader, have advantage of his friends and acquaintances. 
Had any of them entered his room just then they would have 
supposed the Doctor was tired and enjoying his pipe and ease. 
We readers and writers of fiction have the liberty vouchsafed 
us of doing such impolite things as eavesdropping and read- 
ing people’s thoughts. The Doctor’s ran in this wise : 

“I declare I don’t know what to make of it ! Of course 
Jennie will flirt with him, but whether he would like to flirt 
or to marry, how can I tell? Wonder if he saw anything out 
yonder this afternoon? there is never any telling what he 
knows with that deuced quiet face of his. I am afraid of the 
fellow, though I don’t believe he would do anything under- 
handed — he would give me fair warning before he would 
move against me. In that case I think I could come up to 
him. Of course he never made love to a country girl for fun / 
Well, on the whole, I do not suppose he ever did ; he seems 
to be of a different sort. There is no use in disguising the 
fact from myself — he is just a splendid man, and Jennie knows 
it and likes him too, and so does Mary, and so will every one 
else that sees- much of him. But that is no reason I should 
let him interfere with any of my plans. By Jove ! I wish I 
could find out what my plans are ; I would know better what 
to do. Jennie is pretty enough for anybody, and sweet and 
bright, and the little coquette loves me now. She is only 
trying to make me jealous by carrying on with Dean — but, 
then, that is dangerous play for one of her temperament. 
She will love the man most that she is with the most, partic- 


BEATRICE. 


115 

ularly if other people like him too. Well, why shouldn’t I 
be quiet and let her get in with him? ’t would let me out of 
the charge of flirting her. If I only knew that Stillinger 
wouldn't crowd me on that note I could rest easy, and go 
and marry the woman I love better than all the world. But 
Mary has nothing to help me with, and we ’d have to wait a 
good while before we could marry, and then be poor and 
pinched ; then Stillinger might come down on me, though he 
says he won’t. I could n’t bear to see her, my queen, deprived 
of what she wanted, neither would I like to do without my 
luxuries myself. If Stillinger should crowd me, why — forty- 
seven hundred dollars is no trifle to a new professional like 
me; ’t would just ruin me. And yet, she is so sweet I don’t 
see how I could give her up. I can see the shadow I left in 
her starry eyes this morning by my distant manner. I really 
believe she loves me, but she is so guileless, yet so modest, it 
is hard to tell. I suppose if I were to go off where I could 
never see her — puff — puff — puff — f-f-fe. But then Jennie — I 
know I can get her, and old Anthony says she will have a 
cool thirty thousand her own unreservedly the day she mar- 
ries or gets of age. Five thousand would let me out with 
Stillinger and all his ilk and leave a neat twenty-five thousand 
for us, to say nothing of what would come to us when the old 
folks die. Decidedly comfortable state of affairs. And, as 
I said, Jennie is nice enough for any fellow, even my good- 
looking and luxurious self. Heigh-ho ! I wish I knew what 
to do.” He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, refilled, and 
walked the floor with long strides, continuing his thought- 
argument. “ I will try to keep a hold on both of them for a 
little while yet. If that cattle speculation with Gorden turns 
out well, I can afford to marry my darling for love ; otherwise, 
‘Ah, Mary, good-bye,’ and I will take Jennie for comfort; 


ii 6 


BOB DEAN. 


she is a dear little trick after all. Hark ! is that her voice ? 
yes ; and Dean is accompanying her. She admires his sing- 
ing; I ’ll go down.” 


CHAPTER X. 

SEVERAL SCENES. 

M ONDAY morning dawned with a sullen, dispirited as- 
pect. By seven o’clock a slow, nasty rain had set in ; 
it was none of your stirring, vehement affairs, but a steady 
drip, drip, that sent one’s spirits down faster than the mercury. 

Breakfast over, Bob Dean buttoned up his overcoat, and 
under his umbrella was soon plodding his way to the school- 
house ; plodding, because the wet roads forbade any other 
gait. But there was no hint of the plodder in his erect head 
and cheerful face. He had evidently found comfort from 
somewhere since yesterday evening. He carried the air of a 
man who stood fair with himself, and had nothing against his 
neighbors. Calling at the post-office, he found a letter from 
his mother. ’T would have done any woman’s heart good to 
see his face light up as he held it a moment looking at the 
fair superscription before he put it in his breast-pocket. 

“ Seems to please you, sir,” said the clerk; “ from a lady, 
too, — suppose I must not tell the young ladies round here how 
proud you are to get it.” 

“Expect you had as well not,” answered Bob, willing to 
indulge the youth in his pleasantry. 

When he reached tire school-house the boys had a good fire, 
and, for a wonder, the floor was swept, not showing very many 
muddy tracks considering that boys had the occupancy. Bob 


SEVERAL SCENES. Ilf 

looked cheerfully around. “Thank you, boys; whom shall 
I thank for your forethought ? ’ * 

“It was Houston, Mr. Dean! it was Houston Ludwig! 
What do you reckon is the matter of him?” cried several 
voices. 

“ Houston, you have laid me under obligation for the day.” 

“Then let’s count even for yistiddy,” said the boy, una- 
bashed by the notice he had called down on himself. 

Smiling, Bob continued : “ Hereafter we will have a reg- 
ular arrangement for distributing our work of that kind, so 
that it will fall equally on all. You will find the committee 
list for wood, fire-making, sweeping, and water posted on the 
blackboard this afternoon, and I feel quite sure I shall not 
have to call your attention to it any further. And now, boys, 
I have just received a letter from my mother, and I wish you 
to be quiet and studious while I read it.” Seated in his high 
chair, his hand shading his eyes, he was soon absorbed in its 
contents. The boys were quiet but not studious, unless him- 
self were the task he had set them to learn. Black eyes, blue, 
gray, brown, and nondescript were fastened on him, and many 
a speculation chased through boyish brain, many a resolve 
formed in boyish heart while the letter was being read. It 
finished, folded, and replaced in pocket, Bob with another 
“ Thank you, boys,” rang the bell for prayers. A few verses 
of Bible reading, then his rich voice was raised in prayer, 
such prayer as those boys seldom heard in church — a coming 
close to their individual wants, until it seemed to several 
there that he must have seen into their hearts. Even the ir- 
reverent (you will find such among any forty boys) were awed 
into a respect for the suppliant, if not for the supplication. 
Prayers over, another tap of the little bell and a different air 
fell on the whole room. The once tender, pleading tone 


1 1 8 


BOB DEAN. 


of the master now rung out question and explanation with an 
energy that was infectious. A busy hum of study as an ac- 
companiment to the louder tone of the reciting class — oh, 
who does not know it all by heart ! Let us leave him alone 
with his work. He has been installed so short a time it is 
not fair that visitors should intrude. 

Afternoon — still raining — a hopeless drip, drip, with no 
prospect of a break. All nature looked sympathetic. Even 
the pertinacious chrysanthemums in the Widow Lipscomb’s 
front yard looked depressed, and not a few sonsie blossoms 
had succumbed to the adverse weather. But indoors at the 
same domicile a different atmosphere pervaded. As to the 
room itself, though its appointments spoke of rigid economy 
long and persistently practised, it would be hard to find a 
more home-like spot. I think the rooms people live in get 
sometimes to partake of the character of its dwellers. This 
is the reason I am so often led into talking about the houses 
my “ brain people ” are found in. The carpet was faded and 
worn, and had never in its best estate been of a quality to 
boast its fineness, though chosen for body and wear. But 
before the immaculate hearth was a soft rug of bright colors, 
which seemed to smile at its fair manufacturess who was pass- 
ing about putting little finishing touches of neatness to the 
furniture. Curtains of plain muslin looped with bands of 
pressed forest leaves, grasses, and immortelles. A few shelves 
of choice books and a splendid piano, the only thing of much 
value in the room, finished the details, excepting the easy- 
chair in which Mary now seated herself, and the lounge on 
which her mother quietly lay — she was not sleeping ; for, as 
her daughter drew her chair near and took up her sewing, she 
reached out and took the long white hand in her toil-worn 
palm, saying, 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


1 1 9 

“ Don’t sew, darling; I want you to talk to me.” 

“Yes, mother,” and gladly she put away the sewing and 
took possession of her mother’s other hand. 

“ Mary, I have waited for you to tell me of your own will, 
but it does n’t seem as if you intended to do so ; I can’t wait 
always, child ! — how is it with you and Dr. Conway ? he is 
not to you as others who come about you.” 

“ Mother,” — it seemed she could get no further just then, 
for she turned her suffused face away a moment in silence ; 
a curious quaver was in her voice when she resumed with a 
mighty effort, — “ it is as you have suspected ; he is more to 
me than others who come around. I have intended to tell 
you all along ; you know I never have shut anything up in my 
heart away from you, but I thought I would wait until you 
were well again.” 

“ Have you promised to marry him, Mary?” 

“ Oh, mother ! you know I would not do that without talk- 
ing to you about it, nor has he asked me to marry him; he has 
not even told me in so many words that he loved me, but — ” 

“ But what, my child? ” a tender, sympathetic pressure of 
the clasped hands opened the flow of confidence to a freer 
current. 

“But whenever he is with me his every look and action 
tells it only too plainly. I cannot be blind to their purport, 
nor would I appear so to him ; for you know, mother, I am 
no coquette, and ” — her hand lets go her mother’s to hide 
the love-lit eyes — “ I have not tried to disguise the truth 
from him that it makes me very happy to know it.” 

“You say he has not told you in so many words that he 
loves you. Don’t you think the straightforward way would 
be to avow his feelings directly, instead of looking them for 
months together? He has had opportunity.” 


120 


BOB DEAN. 


Mary’s eyes are turned toward her mother now, and the fire 
in their startled depths is almost indignant. u Do you mean 
that he could trifle with me? Ah, no, mother, you do not 
know him.” Now the fire is quenched in tears of tenderness. 
“ He has not tried to display his love to me ; only his eyes 
and his voice tell it, and he cannot help it.” A caught breath, 
and she adds in a lower tone as if too precious to speak aloud, 
and only given lest with the withholding his reputation should 
suffer, “ Before he went away he told me he wanted to see me 
alone when he returned ; and he had a question to ask me 
whose answer involved the happiness of his life; and the 
other night at Mrs. Brown’s he asked me when I would grant 
him that interview. I told him he must wait till the surgical 
operation was over and you were well again. He said he 
would give anything to get out of performing it ; that, know- 
ing how much was at stake, he could not help being nervous 
about it.” 

“ Then why did n’t he let Mr. Dean do it ? In my opinion 
he knows more about his business now than Dr. Conway ever 
will.” 

Mrs. Lipscomb’s words are a little sharp. Mary did not 
answer. She began to realize for the first time that her 
mother did not love her ^over, and she was wounded. The 
shadow was not lost on her parent, for the tone was softened 
as she continued, 

4 'Do not think, my darling, that your confidence is not 
appreciated, and that I do not feel keenly every throb of 
your precious heart ; but to be plain with you, I have not been 
satisfied with the Doctor of late'; in several things he has 
seemed slippery. I saw him with Jennie Brown the other 
day when you were not by, and any third person would have 
taken them to be avowed lovers.” 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


121 


“ Oh, mother ! Jennie would have any man make love to 
her if she wanted him to ; did n’t you notice her with Mr. 
Dean the other night? ” 

“ Yes; that is so. Well she needn’t think to make a fool 
of Bob Dean ! he is too straightforward and sensible and 
honest — yes, honest is the word — to be entrapped by such a 
flippant coquette as she.” 

“Yet that kind of man often becomes fascinated by his 
opposite ; the gravest minds fancy the veriest butterflies ; and 
Jennie is a sweet little thing, mother.” 

.“ Yes, Jennie has a kind heart and plenty of sense if she 
would only use it ; but I should regret to know that Mr. Dean 
was in love with her. I don’t know when I have met a per- 
son whom I liked and trusted so much on short acquaintance 
as I do him. I seem to have known him always.” 

“ Do you know I feel just that way too, and have from my 
first unexpected meeting that day in the wind. I am glad to 
feel we have a friend in him. How he loves his mother ! 
have you heard him speak of her? ” 

“Yes; I should like to know her.” 

They fall into silence, broken presently by a deep sigh from 
the elder. Mrs. Lipscomb is troubled. The keen mother 
eyes see farther into human nature than do those lustrous orbs 
of her fair young daughter ; and this daughter is the most 
precious thing in the world to her, and she is not willing Dr. 
Conway should have her. Troublesome thoughts are depress- 
ing. The rain outside falls drip, drip, and the wood-fire 
crackles and crunches, and presently Mrs. Lipscomb is asleep 
on her comfortable lounge. 

Poor Mary is hurt, deeply hurt. She feels that her mother 
is unjustly prejudiced against her lover; but she knows that 
Mrs. Lipscomb rarely changes her opinion of people, and she 

* ii 


122 


BOB DEAN. 


knows moreover, though just now she is unwilling to acknowl- 
edge the fact to herself, that this opinion is generally correct. 
“ It is because mother loves me so well,” she muses, watching 
with solicitude the pale face of the sleeper. “It arouses her 
jealousy to see the Doctor flirt with Jennie, while she knows 
he is addressing me.” She blushes with fond joy, and the 
sweet eyes are almost tearful with humble pride — the adjective 
is not misused — as she ponders on the happiness that fills her 
being. “ Why he should love me I cannot imagine ; he is so 
grand, so noble, so modest. Though he has not said the very 
words, ‘ I love you,’ he does not need to, for he has said as 
much indirectly twenty times over, and he knows I trust him. 
I am so grieved that mother has lost confidence in him ; but 
she certainly will get over it again ; she used to like him. 
We will wait and show her how true he can be. Oh, Duval ! 
my noble love ! ” She was astonished at her own boldness, 
and glanced around to see if the walls had heard her whisper, 
inaudible save to her own shell-like ears. Dear reader, do 
not pass adverse judgment on my heroine and condemn her 
as a mere romantic, namby-pamby simpleton ! She is only 
eighteen, and her woman’s heart is won for the first time. 
Her lover is grand and handsome and true looking, and she 
has not seen much of man-nature. In every true woman’s 
life there comes a time of this trusting, self-abnegating, per- 
fect surrender on the altar of love ; happy is she to whom it 
comes at the one right time— -when the God of the Temple is 
assigned by Fate to be her own loving, lawful husband. Then 
the fervid libations to Eros are supplanted by their own calmly 
tended Lares and Penates. 

Mary’s musing was interrupted by the rattling of the door- 
latch ; then the door was opened and there came a light foot- 
step into the room. Mary turned and held out a welcoming 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


123 


hand to the intruder, but did not speak, for it was the deaf- 
mute whom Bob Dean had seen the previous day at the 
cabin in the country. This girl was an orphan, who with 
her sister Agnes had long made a home with their aged 
grandmother. They had gained a support by taking washing 
until a few weeks previous to the opening of my story ; then 
the family had been increased by the advent of the widow 
and four children of the old woman’s dead son, who, left 
penniless, had come to the only home they could claim, poor 
as it was. Then the grandmother, Mrs. Vinson, had con- 
cluded to get the girls homes in the village, where they could 
do housework for their board and clothes, “and be one of 
the family,” this last clause the leading proviso ; for, though 
starving poor, the whole connection would have been outraged 
had one of them hired out and received the regular wages of 
a servant. Agnes was headstrong and stolid, and her temper 
had proved incompatible with any family so far tested ; but 
Laura, the younger, was quick, neat, and faithful, and spite 
of her sad infirmity had found a good home with Mrs. Lips- 
comb. She had now been absent for several days with her 
sick grandparent ; but the old woman was better to-day, and 
she had returned to her new home. Mary, speaking by means 
of a system of signs well understood between them, asked her 
some questions, then went out with her to give directions 
about the housework. As they passed into the kitchen, Mary 
laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder and discovered that she 
was quite wet ; for it was still raining, and Laura had only 
stopped to put off her shawl before presenting herself. Mary 
shook her head in reproof, and told her to change her cloth- 
ing, adding with a smile of kindness that she would be sick. 
The sympathy expressed in her solicitude stirred some new 
feeling in the girl ; for, suddenly seizing Mary’s hand, she 


124 


BOB DEAN. 


pressed it to her lips and heart ; then, spreading out her arms 
beyond, went through the motion of warding off an imaginary 
danger. Her eyes were full of passion. Mary was astonished, 
for she had never before seen her exhibit any strong emotion. 
She had seemed to be singularly devoid of excitability, and 
Mary had grown to think of her, as we all are prone to think 
of the deaf, the blind, and the insane, as in a measure shut 
out from the ordinary passions of life. 

“ What is it, Laura? ” 

The girl’s wide blue eyes filled with tears, and she swept 
her hand over her chest and stamped her foot angrily. 

“What has the Doctor done to offend you?” repeated 
Mary, recognizing the symbol, while she could not repress a 
smile at what she believed to be a child’s whim. 

Laura made no answer ; either she reconsidered her inten- 
tion of informing on the recreant lover, or despaired of mak- 
ing herself understood; for she gave a gulping sob, dried her 
eyes on her sleeve, and, while a kind of hardness settled on 
her pallid face, turned to the stove and busied herself with 
scraping out the ashes in order to make a fire. 

Mary was puzzled, but did not know how to solve the mys- 
tery. When she returned to the parlor she found her mother 
had retired to her own room, and requested to be left alone 
as she felt like sleeping again. So Mary went into the adjoin- 
ing chamber, which she called her own, though she slept with 
her mother ; a very little room it was, but as neat as the 
others, and if possible a bit more cosy ; but it had no fire 
to-day, and it was business, not pleasure, which had brought 
her into it. Seating herself at the little old table, she took a. 
leather-bound account-book from the drawer and looked it 
over ; then she made some figures at the bottom of the last 
written page, turned over to another and ran her eyes over 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


125 


the contents. Drawing a deep sigh she took out her purse, 
a very unobtrusive affair whether the point considered be its 
material or its plethora ; she carefully counted* the few bills, 
made a little pile of the silver pieces, and then took a view 
of the whole matter — the little pile, the few bills, the unob- 
trusive purse, known necessities and possible contingencies ; 
with the probability of the first two named meeting the de- 
mand of the two last, she summed it up thus: “I hope it 
won’t give out. There is not much, but perhaps it will last 
until mother is well again. I don’t know what the Doctor’s 
bill will be; it must be something. I can’t take a favor from 
him.” She blushed, though she knew no eye could see her, 
and putting her hands up to hide her face from herself she 
went on, “ I have nearly everything in the house that I need 
this month, except a few little things for Christmas, while 
Laura needs a sacque and new shoes. I can’t give lessons any 
more until mother is well. Let me see — they all owe me for 
last week’s lessons, fifteen dollars ; that is all I shall get in this 
month, unless Dr. Stanhope gets back and pays me that old 
account. I don’t suppose I shall be able to start, my class 
again until after New Year. Well, I am afraid my Christmas 
will be but a poor one, but if mother is up and well it will be 
a thankful one. Now who is it at the door this miserable af- 
ternoon?” She pushed her book and purse back into the 
drawer and went out, not even stopping before the mirror to 
see how she looked. Her smooth, waving hair was never out 
of order ; her tea-rose complexion needed no toilet addition ; 
the white teeth and sweet wide mouth were always perfect. 
Her dress was the same dark calico she had worn on Saturday, 
and the neat collar and cuffs had been arranged when she 
dressed after her housework was finished at dinner. Before 
she reached the front door she could see through the window 
11 * 


126 


BOB DEAN. 


that her visitor was none other than Dr. Conway. He was 
divesting himself of his waterproof, and shaking the rain-drops 
from his broad “ sombrera,” which he used when riding in 
the sun and rain. He saw her in the parlor and opened the 
door for himself. Though not nearly so well dressed as yes- 
terday, he was looking much better. His grand beard was 
bedewed with moisture, and curling ; his rough grey suit was 
becoming to his massive form ; and his kingly eyes were full 
of feeling. Few persons .could have resisted the magnetism 
of his presence when he chose to be agreeable, and this after- 
noon he had a good will to please. Taking Mary’s hand in 
his soft palm, he held it just a trifle closer and an instant 
longer than was essential for mere greeting, releasing it before 
she could find it convenient to withdraw it from motives of 
modesty. His touch was magnetic, and his eyes told silent 
admiration as he looked at her. 

“ How is our mother this afternoon ? ” 

Whether the pronoun had been of choice or accident, 
it would have needed an acute observer to decide ; but the 
doubt was sufficient to deepen the girl’s color as she answered, 
“She is resting; I will see if she is awake.” Returning 
in a moment, she continued : “ Unfortunately, she is sleeping 
again. As you do not allow her disturbed, will you be seated 
and wait? ” 

“ If you have leisure to sit with me.” 

“ I have nothing else to do.” 

“ Oh, golden hour ! ” 

But now he did not seem to know how to garner the treas- 
ure, for he was silent, and when he did speak it was only to say, 
“ Mrs. Vaughn asked me this morning if you would go on 
with your music class this week ; she says she will send Clar- 
ence here if you wish.” 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


127 


“ She is very kind. ,1 cannot go out to teach any more 
until mother is quite well ; she is nervous, and does not like 
to have me out of her sight.” 

“I don’t wonder!” interrupted the Doctor, emphasizing 
with his eyes. 

Mary’s glance fell, but she continued, “If Mrs. Vaughn 
will let Clarence come here to take his lessons, I shall be very 
glad, for I need to work every day.” 

“ How long before you consent to give me leave to work 
for you, Mary?” His deep voice was low and insinuating, 
and his heart shone out in his face. 

Dr. Conway had come here this day intending simply to 
“keep a hold on Mary,” and to avoid bringing matters to 
any inconvenient issue ; but his heart gained mastery over his 
prudence ; his hand even trembled as he took possession of 
hers again, looking down into her lovely eyes. She was sit- 
ting at the end of the lounge which had been brought in for 
the use of her mother ; his chair was very near, and Mary felt 
that at that proximity her will was ruled by his magnetic 
power. She took away her hand, and rising stood on the rug 
before she answered with downcast eye and bated breath. 

“Dr. Conway, of course I cannot misunderstand your 
meaning. I thank you for the honor you do me, but I must 
repeat the request that you do not talk to me about this until 
mother is well again.” Knowing her mother’s feelings about 
him, she began to feel that it was a criminal breach of duty for 
them to even talk of love until her consent had been gained. 
Mary intended henceforth to be very prudent, and to conceal 
her own sentiments sedulously. 

“ Do you think, Miss Mary, that your mother would disap- 
prove of your hearing my secret ? Have you asked her if you 
may ? ’ ’ 


128 


BOB DEAN. 


She blushed at the duplicity of her words as she answered, 
“I cannot have mother troubled while she is sick.” 

“ Do you think this will trouble her? will she be unwilling 
you should love me?” The cadence of his voice was irre- 
sistible. 

Poor Mary was getting embarrassed, and was half ready to 
cry. She spoke hastily, “ Any subject would give her trouble 
which would force her to think or disturb her nerves now. 
You must wait, Dr. Conway, or — ” 

“I am willing to wait as long as you can ask for definite 
arrangements ; but I do think, Miss Mary, you might give me 
a little light and hope ; you might tell me how you feel about 
it. You are so quiet and calm I can read nothing of your 
heart; but I don’t believe you would suffer me to go on lov- 
ing you and hoping, if you intended only to disappoint me at 
last. ’ ’ He knew he was throwing a steel chain of obligations 
about himself as well as her by this appeal, but she was so 
beautiful as she stood before him that his heart went out to 
her entirely, and he was desperate ; he rose, too, and stood 
at her side, leaning his arm on the mantel and bending his 
handsome head forward so that his beard almost touched her 
cheek. Mary turned pale, and dared not look up, for her 
heart was beating like a prisoned bird, and her slender fingers 
trembled so that she clasped them together to steady them ; 
but her voice was clear and steady when she answered, 

“ Doctor, I think it is hardly fair to appeal to me in that 
way. You promised to wait. If I were to tell you what you 
ask, there would be nothing left for a prudent woman to tell.” 
The tears had come at last, for she felt that he had compro- 
mised her modesty in beguiling her into a betrayal of feeling, 
and she was wounded with him. 

“ Have I offended you, Miss Mary ? Pray, forgive me ; but 


SEVERAL SCENES. 


I29 


it is right hard,” and he moved further from her. She was 
seized with the impulse to put out her hand and yield all on 
the spot, but looking up to his half-averted eyes she caught 
a gleam from another part of his nature. 

The Doctor’s prudence had returned. He was satisfied now 
that he had won her heart, and that she was only standing off ^ 
on her dignity until her mother’s consent should leave her 
free to confess her love. He began to fear he had been pre- 
cipitate in thus urging her, and leaving so little room to “draw 
off” in case it should seem advisable. He resolved to re- 
move himself to a safe distance both in sentiment and person, 
for it was impossible to stand quite near this woman and con- 
trol his heart. A perception of some of these things flashed 
on her consciousness, and all of a sudden she felt herself re- 
pelled from him who a moment before had drawn out her 
heart with an almost irresistible power. She was perfectly 
calm in an instant, and her voice had a ring of indignation 
in it as she said, 

“ I do not wish to be hard, Dr. Conway. Please remember 
I hold no claim over you.” The words sounded unfeeling, 
and would have been unpardonably so, if it had not been for 
the silent scene which had passed. 

The Doctor bowed his head sadly, perfectly satisfied with 
their relative positions, but wishing to leave Mary with a little 
hurting in her conscience. 

Just then Laura came in with wood for the fire, and informed 
Mary that her mother wanted her. As she went out, Laura 
kneeled down to put on the wood, giving the Doctor a side- 
long glance which was not friendly. He recognized her and 
held out his hand, but she struck it* sharply with her own, 
and hastily left the room as Mary returned to say that her 
mother would see the Doctor. 

I 


130 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER XI. 


buck McQuillan. 


ATE in the afternoon a fierce wind from the north came 



J_^ to assist the sullen rain in making nature miserable. It 
tore and yelled and lashed until the dripping foliage was trans- 
formed into shivering skeletons. Sleet stung you in the face, 
and each breath of wind was like a two-edged dagger, so pen- 
etratingly did it dig for your backbone. All under foot was 
soon a freezing slush. Men hurried through outside business, 
and came home to pile on the post-oak wood. Housekeepers 
donned extra sacques and shawls, and bustled about to close 
up evening work that they might come to crouch over the fire. 
The change is so sudden the flesh refuses to be reconciled to 
it on the instant. After heavier garments are put on, and 
roaring fires are built, the various members of a family feel that 
comfort in its perfection is to be attained only by the social 
sharing of the same hearthstone. There is one good in the 
fresh norther of Texas ; it arouses in the ease-loving people 
an enthusiasm akin to that which a snowstorm brings to the 
youth of New England homes. For a time regular work, un- 
less it be of a pressing nature, is suspended, and all meet to 
shiver in company, and condole over the “ terrible norther,” 
while in their hearts is exhilaration and new life astir. 

So it was that Bob Dean found Mrs. Brown’s little family 
when he reached home at half-past five on this Monday after- 
noon. As he slammed the hall-door (you know he was 
Southern born and raised, and the wind was very high), Mrs. 
Brown came out from the family room opposite the parlor and 
called to him : 


buck McQuillan. 


131 

“ Come in here, Mr. Dean ; we have a good fire. I had 
one made in your room, but it is not good hot yet. Isn’t 
this terrible? Don’t go up-stairs to take off your overcoat; 
let me help you. There ! I’ll just hang it on the rack here. 
Never mind the mud ; it won’t matter. We are all in here.” 

Bob found Dr. Conway comfortably smoking his pipe on 
one side of the fireplace, while Jennie sat opposite with a 
piece of fancy-work in her pretty hands, and a rich bright 
shawl drawn around her shoulders. Mrs. Brown set a chair 
for Bob. in front, and exhibited a motherly solicitude in hav- 
ing him dry his feet, telling him again “ not to mind the mud 
— it will sweep up.” She placed her own rocking-chair by 
his side, and, getting her knitting, kept time to the click of 
the polished needles with her merry, pleasant chat. Bob had 
not seen much of her before in the home-social point of view. 
At table, her whole soill was concentrated upon the exacting 
thought that the coffee be just of the proper strength, the 
cakes as hot as possible, that Mat be kept out of the kitchen 
and where she was wanted, and that hot biscuit be duly 
handed round. But she was different this evening, and her 
kindness brought up to Bob’s mind his mother and the letter 
he had received to-day. He took it from his pocket, and 
handed her one sheet, which contained a kindly message to 
herself. It ran thus : — 

“Tell Mrs. Brown I thank her for making you so comfor- 
table, and, if it is not too much trouble, will she please scold 
you if you go with damp feet after your day’s work is done. 
You know, my boy, you were never half careful enough about 
yourself. Remember, if you should contract your father’s 
disease my heart would break.” 

Mrs. Brown’s eyes were dim when she handed back his 
letter. Down in her heart was a dear picture of her own 


132 


BOB DEAN. 


curly-headed boy, who she had dreamed long ago would be 
the pride of her age, as this young man was to his mother, but 
he had been buried out of her sight ten hungry years. Bob’s 
quick eyes were gathering something of this from her face, 
for they were moist in sympathy, as he said, 

“You must be endowed with second sight, Mrs. Brown, to 
have divined that message while it was yet in my pocket. I 
am ready for my scolding.” 

“ Oh, I shall save that until you are disobedient ; but you 
may look out.” 

“These naughty big feet of mine have given mother much 
trouble,” said Bob, while his mouth and eyes were tender with 
old memories ; “ my first recollection of her is having her pull 
off my shoes and rub my feet warm after being out at play. 
Can’t I trade them off to you, Miss Jennie, for hearth-orna- 
ments, they are so ornamental ? ’ ’ and he laughed as he took 
a comprehensive view of them, bespattered with mud and 
steaming before the fire. Jennie laid her head on one side 
and considered them too in the light of speculation. 

“I am afraid they would be like mamma’s wardrobe — I 
should have to build a house to put them in,” she answered, 
saucily. 

“ Well,” responded Bob, “ you might make your house -just 
a little larger, and it would hold me, too.” 

“Quite a convenient arrangement!” put in Dr. Conway, 
looking up from his paper. Jennie blushed and laughed. 

“And if you should want to go into the leather trade,” 
continued Bob, “ they would be a splendid investment ; you 
would be assured of enough home consumption to keep busi- 
ness lively.” 

“Let’s change the subject,” cried Jennie. “Mr. Dean, 
when are you going to see your mother ? ’ ’ 


buck McQuillan. 


133 

“ 1 hope to visit her Christmas holidays, if I keep the use 
of my feet.” 

“ Otherwise, I will see that you are transported,” added 
the Doctor. 

“Want to get rid of me? Please don’t send me to Botany 
Bay.” 

“Why don’t you have your mother come to see you?” 
asked Mrs. Brown. “We would be glad to have her come 
and spend Christmas here.” 

“ Oh, do, Mr. Dean!” exclaimed Jennie. “We can’t 
spare you. We want to have a Sunday-school tree, and you 
must stay to help us.” 

“ My hands as well as my feet are at your service, Miss 
Jennie ; but may I bring her here, Mrs. Brown ? I would be 
so glad to, and she would like it so much ! ” His face looked 
boyish in his pleasure as he turned it to her. 

“May you? Why certainly; we would be delighted!” 
answered Mrs. Brown, cordially. 

“Thank you; I shall write to ask her immediately. You 
know, madam, we have no home now ; there is nothing home- 
like in a boarding-school. We did not anticipate any pleas- 
ure except in being together. You are very kind.” 

“ Oh, not at all. Where is she now, Mr. Dean ? ” 

“ She is teaching music in a school in Austin. We grieve 
to be apart in our work, but it must be for a time.” His eyes 
were very wistful, but they gathered a new light as he added, 
“ I know she will enjoy being here and getting acquainted 
with you all and my surroundings. She is so foolish as to 
think a great deal of my unworthy self.” His thoughts ran 
hastily to wondering what she would think of Mary Lipscomb. 
Turning to the Doctor, he asked abruptly, “ How is Mrs. Lips- 
comb doing?” 

12 


134 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Very well,” answered that gentleman, any further speech 
being cut short by curiosity of what Jennie was so amused 
about. She had glanced significantly at Bob when he put his 
question, and he, finding his train of thought detected, only 
slowly bowed his head and half closed his eyes, while a kept- 
back smile drew down the corners of his wide mouth. 

“ What amuses you, Miss Jennie? ” asked the Doctor. 

“ Amuses me ! I am not amused, but annoyed ; my thread 
is in a knot,” and she pulled savagely at her tatting-work and 
frowned over it. It was now the Doctor’s turn to be annoyed. 
He said nothing, but leaned back in his chair, took up his 
paper, and became too deeply interested to take any further 
notice of the conversation. 

‘‘Jennie,” said Mrs. Brown, “suppose we have tea in here 
to-night; it will be uncomfortable in the dining-room.” 

“Well, mamma; shall I tell Aunt ’Cindy?” 

“She is not here; tell Mat.” 

As Jennie reached the door she got a view of the Doctor’s 
face. He was not reading, but was frowning and winking his 
eyes hard— showing his temper. She went out, and laughed 
slyly as she snapped her fingers, saying, “Goody! he does 
feel it, too — goody! I’ll make him feel it more yet. Con- 
ceited things these men are ! ” and she hugged up her arms 
tight as if to give herself a commendatory embrace. When 
she came back she brought the coffee-pot and dripper, Mat fol- 
lowing with the tea-kettle. 

“ I thought you would rather drip the coffee here, mamma,” 
she said, putting the things down on the hearth. 

The Browns never used any other beverage but coffee un- 
less there was company, although Mrs. Brown was accustomed 
to call her evening meal tea. Dr. Conway was fond of tea, 
but affected coffee instead lest he be considered effeminate or 


buck McQuillan. 


135 


“ Yankee.” He had understood upon first arriving in the 
State that the milder effusion was used principally by ladies, 
children, and Northern people, while the love of black coffee 
was the test of a naturalized Texan. He was determined to 
leave nothing undone which would add to his popularity. 

Bob moved aside to give room for the table, which Mat now 
brought forward. The good things followed in quick succes- 
sion, and they were seated around the board when Jennie re- 
marked, 

“ I wish papa had n’t gone back to the mill last night; it is 
so disagreeable. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, he don’t mind ; he never cares for anything as long 
as he has plenty of work at the mill.” 

Bob wondered how he could content himself away from 
the comforts of so pleasant a home. He inwardly resolved 
that if ever he had a home he would stay there at least half 
the time. Poor Bob ! such thoughts were fraught with sad- 
ness, for now there was no idea of home for him without Mary, 
and all thoughts of her were sad in very despondency. 

They were still sitting around the table eating apples when 
there came a hasty rap at the door. Mat went out and re- 
turned, saying, 

“ Thar ’s a man wants you, Dr. Conway.” 

“ Of course, as it is cold as blixins and I am comfortable ! 
What did I tell you, Dean ? Drop the profession, man, before 
you get in any further. Do you know who it is, Mat?” 

“Yes, sir; it’s Mr. Buck McQuillan.” 

“ Tell him to come to the fire, Mat,” said Mrs. Brown. 

When the man followed her in, he stood a moment in the 
door shading his eyes with his hand, dazzled with the warmth 
and light and shining array of comfort ; then he took off his 
wide-brimmed hat and came slowly in, as if afraid of touch- 
ing something with his wet clothes. 


136 


BOB DEAN. 


“Good-evening, Mr. Mac,” said the Doctor, shaking 
hands with him ; “ pretty rough weather ! ” 

“ Miserble ! ” the man answered. 

“All well at home?” 

“All up un about. Pap, he ’s been sorter under the weather, 
but he ’s gittin’ peerter now.” 

“ It is not for any of your family I am wanted, then?” 

“No, sir; it’s fur ole Miss Vinson.” 

“ Mrs. Vinson ! why, what is the matter there again? ” 

“Well, she was took ’bout a hour ago with some kinder 
spell, and she ’s been layin’ dead-like ever sence ; and Miss 
Polly Vinson’s little boy he run over to our house after maw 
fur to come and see her, an’ he was ter come on after you. 
He said Aggie was a-cryin’ ” — his voice choked as he said it 
— “an’ I tole him to go home outen th’ cold, he is sech a 
little chunk of a feller, an’ I’d fetch you.” The messenger 
rubbed his lips with the back of his red hand, cleared his 
throat, and turned his wet feet nearer the fire. 

“Well, I will be ready in a moment,” said Dr. Conway, 
rising and going up to his room. 

“Won’t you have some supper, sir?” said Mrs. Brown, her 
hospitable heart ever ready to suggest comfort. 

“’Bleeged to ye, ma’am, but I’ve et my supper,” and he 
cleared his throat again and hunched his chair. 

“You might take a cup of hot coffee, though ; ’t would do 
you good after being out in the cold. Mat, set the coffee on 
some coals.” 

“ Thousan’ times ’bleeged, ma’am, but I don’t keer fur eny, 
if you please;” another hunch of the chair. 

“Is the deaf girl a sister to the other — Agnes I believe is 
her name?” Bob asked of nobody in particular. No answer 
immediately. Finally Mrs. Brown said, 


buck McQuillan. 


137 


“Yes; I think she is. I don’t know much about the fam- 
ily ; they used to take washing sometimes from my boarders, 
and I have seen the girls. Laura, the mute, lives with Mrs. 
Lipscomb.” 

“ Ah ! ” and Bob relapsed ipto silence. Then Jennie asked, 

“ Do you know everybody, Mr. Dean ? How in the world 
did you know there was a deaf girl in the family?” 

“ I stopped at her home while out walking yesterday to in- 
quire about the road.” Bob’s words were short, and he was 
grave. 

The stranger’s eyes moved from one to the other of the 
speakers in succession, and his face was full of alertness, but 
he kept silence. Dr. Conway now entered ready to ride. 

“We will go round by the stable for my horses, Mr. Mac. 
Good-evening, friends ! ” 

Mrs. Brown called after them — “Mr. McQuillan, tell the 
family if they need any help in nursing to send me word.” 

“Ma’am! — oh, yes’m; thankee, mum,” and they were 
shut out in the dark. 

“ A fearful night to be out in,” said Mrs. Brown. 

“Yes,” answered Bob. 

“ But sickness makes no choice of weather,” and the little 
woman shook her head, moralizing. 

“ How the Doctor must suffer ! ” said Jennie, softly. 

“He is not the only sufferer,” Bob responded with fierce- 
ness. 

“ No ; there ’s the sick woman,” Jennie assented. 

“Yes.” 

“And Mr. McQuillan.” 

“Yes.” 

Jennie wondered what was the matter with Bob, he had 
grown so grave and hard. 

12* 


I3» 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ i don’t want you to touch me ! ” 

I T was still sleeting and freezing as McQuillan and Dr. Con- 
way rode off from the stable-yard. The darkness was im- 
penetrable, not even lit by an occasional gleam of lightning. 
They could only let the horses’ instinct be their guide, con- 
tenting themselves with holding a tight rein to keep the ani- 
mals from slipping on the icy road. After a protracted silence 
the Doctor spoke. 

“ Have you been long in this settlement, Mr. McQuillan ? ” 
“’Bout a year. Pap he bought sixty acres off’n Parson 
Jeeme’s track las’ Jinewary, an’ we been livin’ on it sence 
March.” 

“ Got it nearly all in ? ” 

“ Not yit. Had twenty acres in corn and ’bout ten in cot- 
ton. ’Spect to git it all in next year ef we live an’ nothin’ 
happens. ’ ’ 

“Are you much acquainted with Mrs. Vinson’s family?” 

“ Well, putty good, I reckin ; some of ’em are over ter o’r 
’ouse every Sunday onless we’s over thar; ’taint mor’n a 
quarter straight through.” 

“ Clever family ! ” said the Doctor, cautiously. 

“Yes; you better b’lieve it is. I go high on Miss Aggie ! ” 
and the fellow gave an embarrassed laugh. 

“So? Shouldn’t wonder; nice looking girl.” 

“She is that." 

The men could not see each other’s faces ; perhaps it was 
as well. 

“Go in, Doctor,” said McQuillan, when they reached the 


“ I don’t want you to touch me!” 139 

fence. “ I ’ll fasten your horse round in the shed outen the 
weather. Have him fed?” 

“ No, thank you. Don’t take off the saddle. I will go 
back pretty soon, if I can get off.” 

“Don’t b’lieve you’d oughter,” muttered the man, as he 
led away the muddy horses. 

The Doctor found the old woman still insensible ; the at- 
tack was paralytic, and there was little he could do. Agnes 
was sitting on the side of her grandmother’s bed chafing the 
cold hands. She had been weeping, and her ox-like eyes 
looked more sullen than ever ; still, her sallow cheeks were 
flushed, and grief had given expression to her stolid face. 

Dr. Conway approached the bed and examined the patient’s 
pulse, then offered his hand to Agnes in silence. She took it, 
bursting into tears anew, then arose and cowered down on a 
box at the foot of the bed. Mrs. McQuillan and the widowed 
daughter-in-law sat by the hearth. Having exhausted all their 
simple remedies, they were beguiling the time in which they 
must needs wait for the doctor by dipping snuff, and giving 
each other their experiences of like attacks, which they had 
either witnessed themselves or heard tell of. 

When McQuillan came in he went first to look at the 
still figure on the bed, then shaking his head he gave vent to 
an emphatic “ umph,” and came to the fire. 

“Set down, Buck; ain’t yer mighty cold and wet?” said 
his mother. 

“ Putty cold, but not much wet ; ’tain’t rainin’ now.” 

“Awful weather! ” suggested Polly, the widow. 

“ Turrible ! ” said Buck, glancing over to where Agnes sat, 
with her face buried in the bed-clothes. 

“ Have a cheer and warm yourself.” 

He took the old chair she offered him, which, to use a com- 


140 


BOB DEAN. 


mon expression, had seen better days as to legs and paint, but 
was still doing good service with its original bottom of cow- 
hide. He drew it quite on to the hearth, extending his chilled 
hands over the blaze and smoke. The fireplace was immensely 
wide, with huge throat gaping and black. To one unaccus- 
tomed to these log-chimneys, they are unpleasantly suggestive 
of a monster with wide-open, hungry mouth. For irons, two 
rough stones did duty. The principal log on the fire was too 
long, and one end was left on the hearth, thereby furnishing 
a connecting line for the puffs of strong smoke to escape into 
the room — no danger of being suffocated by it though, for 
there was abundant means of egress through the numerous 
“chinks” in the wall and roof. The hearth was, further- 
more, adorned by a well-smoked coffee boiler and an oven, 
in which the women by turns looked, generally adding coals 
to the embers on top after each view. Buck untied the hand- 
kerchief he had knotted around his neck and held it before 
the fire to dry. The Doctor left the bedside and came to the 
fire, shivering, though his overcoat was heavy and fur-collared. 

“What do you think of her, Doctor?” asked Polly. 

“ It is a stroke of paralysis, madam. There is not much 
we can do for her. It may not last long, and again she may 
not get over it at all.” 

Here Agnes gave way to sobbing again. The group at the 
fire sat in silence. Buck cleared his throat, turned uneasily 
in his chair, shuffled his feet, wiped his eyes, and could stand 
it no longer. Going up to her, he put his hand on her shoul- 
der, saying, 

“ Don’t cry that-a-way, Aggie ; don’t. You will hurt your- 
se’f.” 

Increased sobbing, while she turned so as to draw her 
shoulder from under his hand. 


“i don’t want you to touch me!” 141 

“ Now don’t, Aggie ; maybe she will git well ; I would n’t 
take on so.” 

Sobs louder. Poor Buck was beside himself. 

“Oh, honey, you will break my heart!” and he threw 
both arms around her. 

“ Go ’way ! ” she cried out; “ I don’t want you to touch 
me!” and she sprang up and ran into the shed-room, adjoining. 

Buck returned to the fire, but stood so none could see his 
face. The man’s muscular frame was shaking with emotion. 

“ Don’t mind her now, Buck; she don’t hardly know what 
she’s a-sayin’,” said Polly, exchanging glances with his 
mother. 

“ Tell you it ’s putty hard lines fur me to see her in sich 
distress and can’t do nothin’ fur her, and to hyar her say she 
don’t want me to tech her.” 

“ Oh, well ; don’t mind. She ’ll git better terreckly ; them 
what cries most gits over ther trouble easiest,” said his mother. 

“ She ought not to stay in that room away from the fire,” 
said Dr. Conway. He had been very still, but there was an 
intense look in his deep-set eyes. 

“ ’Spect I better go home, maw; I thought you women 
folks might need me to-night or I wouldn’t a come; Iwush 
I had n’t now. I ’ll bring in more wood fust.” 

He stayed out a long time, but when he came he had a 
large armful of wood, which he put in the corner ; then he 
refilled the bucket which stood on a shelf in the same corner ; 
then approached the fire, taking care to pass near enough to 
look into the door through which Agnes had retreated. 

“ Drink some hot coffee before you go, Buck. Aunt Sally, 
is the potatoes done ? ” 

Buck’s mother thrust the poker through the eye of the oven- 
lid and lifted it off ; then, with her apron for a napkin, she felt 
of the steaming contents. 


142 


BOB DEAN. 


“ They ain’t real saft yit,” and she replaced the cover and 
renewed the embers. Polly handed Buck a cup of weak 
coffee, saying, 

“ I don’t see *s yer need go home, nohow.” He was drink- 
ing his coffee in gulps, smoking hot, but when he finished he 
returned her the cup and said, 

“Well, I don’t know; seems like mebbe Aggie would 
ruther I was away. Looks hard, too, that she ’d want me to go. ’ ’ 

“You should have let her alone then,” said Dr. Conway 
sternly. 

“ Should ! Well I don’t know who ’s got a right to try to 
comfort her if I haven’t — the man what she’s a-goin’ to 
marry a Christmas ! Mebbe you think you could do it better 
yourself ! I would n’t advise yer to try; that ’s all I ’ve got to 
say.” The man’s eyes were on fire, and his whole frame di- 
lated with passion as he turned on Dr. Conway, who had been 
sitting handsome and cold by his side — no longer cold now ; 
the information Buck had given him in his last sentence took 
him by surprise. Buck’s mother rose hastily, and, coming be- 
tween them, laid her hand on the arm of her angry son, saying, 

“Oh, now, Buck, do hush; what’s the sense of makin’ a 
fuss. You hain’t yourse’f to-night ; you hed better go home. 
The Doctor did n’t mean nothin’.” 

“ Perhaps I owe Mr. McQuillan an apology,” sneered that 
gentleman ; “I did not know he occupied so important a re- 
lationship to the family.” 

Buck looked suspiciously at him, in doubt whether he was 
being ridiculed by the fine gentleman at his side, or whether 
the said gentleman only intended to make honorable amends 
for a natural mistake. His generous heart took the most char- 
itable view, but in his embarrassment he knew not how to ac- 
cept the proffered apology ; he twisted his old hat around in 


“ i don’t want you to touch me!” 143 

his shaking hands, and shuffled from one foot to the other, 
and finally, 

“ Well, it ’s all right, then. I s’pose I ought n’t to flew up 
so ; but I ’m awful techous about her. Good-night all. Maw, 
I will bring the mar’ over fer ye early.” He closed the door 
on the group, who sat in silence after the “ crush, crush ” of 
his heavy footsteps died out of hearing. Neither of the 
women spoke ; they felt that the Doctor had trespassed be- 
yond his liberty as a physician, and that Buck had been 
wronged in being made to appear at a disadvantage. This 
class of people are clannish, and suspicion any who by manner 
or word show a cultivation beyond themselves. 

The Doctor felt that he had lost prestige, and was intensely 
annoyed ; for his present popularity lay so near his heart that 
anything which threatened its hold, even among these people, 
became a matter of moment to him. 

After awhile Agnes came back, and, taking the chair Buck 
had vacated, crouched down with her face in her hands, the 
picture of shivering misery. Still, nothing was said ; all felt 
doubtful of their ground. 

Polly went to the bed and looked at and felt the sick 
woman ; then the Doctor followed, examined his patient 
again, gave some medicines and directions to the widow, and 
began putting on his water-proof, preparatory to starting. 
Poor Agnes now turned towards him with the pleading look 
of a dumb animal in her great eyes. He must have seen 
there was more trouble in her face than mere grief for her 
aged grandmother, but he did not speak to her. Saying 
merely, “ I will call again to-morrow; good-night,” he closed 
the door behind him, shutting out from his sight the misery 
he was leaving — that deepest of all misery, a woman’s heart 
breaking because men are thoughtless and love themselves. 


144 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 


WEEK has passed by. The weather is still cold, and 



/a. the genial warmth of Mrs. Brown’s breakfast-room is 
enticing. There is a busy clatter of knives and forks and 
cups and spoons, with much lively, pleasant talk. The family 
are all present excepting Dr. Conway, and before Mr. Brown 
finishes his second cup of coffee he enters. The Doctor is 
not usually unpunctual ; that would not be popular in a pro- 
fessional man. 

“Good-morning, Doctor,” said Mrs. Brown. “Have your 
seat. We are all waiting, you see, on ourselves. Mat, bring 
hot biscuit. I heard some one call for you last night — a new 
patient ? ” 

“ No, madam ; it was for Mrs. Vinson again ; they will not 
believe I can do nothing for her.” The Doctor’s manner was 
surly, as if the subject were a painful one. 

“ Is she no better yet ? ” 

“ Never will be in this world. She can’t live through the 
day. I shall have to go back there this morning, I suppose, 
though it is of no use. ’ ’ 

“Dear me ! Jennie, I must go out to see them. Mr. Brown, 
are you going to ride Button?” 

“ Not if you want him. Can ride something else. Got to 
go back to the mill this mornin’.” 

It is well into the forenoon before Mrs. Brown returns from 
her errand of mercy. After looking to dinner, she goes up- 
stairs to find her daughter. Jennie is shut in her own room, 
where a bright fire is burning on the hearth. Half buried in 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 


145 


the cushions of her rocking-chair, she is deep into the interests 
of a new novel which her father brought from Rockdale, and 
which she had commenced the previous evening, when there 
was no one to talk to. Her room, though intensely comfor- 
table, was characteristic of the selfish, idle girl — handsome 
furniture, luxurious chairs, large mirror, with every other ap- 
purtenance of ease about ; yet there was none of the delicate 
neatness of order which Mary Lipscomb’s rooms exhibited. 
A rich crimson shawl clung around her plump shoulders. One 
little foot encased in a boot whose dimensions would have 
made Cinderella jealous; its mate had been kicked off be- 
cause it pinched. Her short, jetty curls were clustered close 
to the smooth forehead ; the full lips red and childish ; and 
the whole attitude careless, pleasurable, and charming. Well 
might Dr. Conway say she was sweet enough for anybody. 

“ You in here, Jennie?” 

Mrs. Brown closed the door softly and took a low chair by 
the fire. Jennie did not think of offering her rocking-chair, 
she was so used to having the best things for herself. 

“How is Mrs. Vinson, mamma?” Jennie asked, without 
looking up from her book. 

“ She is dead, Jennie. I want to tell you something I 
found out there this morning.” Mrs. Brown’s lips are tight 
set as she lays her hand impressively on her daughter’s lap. 

“What, mamma?” Jennie puts her book down on her 
knee, keeping a finger between the leaves as if she did not 
mean to be long interrupted. 

“Well, listen. La me, this world ! What a world, and 
what a sight of misery there is in it ! When I got out yonder 
— you know I went with the Doctor — the family were all 
gathered around the old woman’s bed. None of the neigh- 
bors had got in — a mercy, too, for they do crowd so when 
13 K 


146 


BOB DEAN. 


anybody dies. Directly Mrs. McQuillan and Buck and his 
sister came. The old woman was conscious, and as soon as 
she saw Buck she signed for him to come close. There was 
a sight of beckoning and whispering among them all, and 
by-and-by Mrs. McQuillan came up to Agnes, who was stand- 
ing by me at the foot of the bed, and told her that her grand- 
mother wanted her and Buck to be married before she died. 
It seems they were to have been married at Christmas, but the 
old woman had taken a notion to see it done before she left 
them. She kept muttering ‘she needs protection.’ Buck 
looked straight at Agnes, but said nothing. She was as blue 
as skimmed milk, but instead of answering she just turned 
and looked over at Dr. Conway , who was on the other side 
of her ; such a look I have seen an animal give just before it 
died. I felt all-overish. He never raised his eyes from the 
floor ; but I know he must have felt it, for he turned white too. 
Polly Vinson spoke up, * I think you had better do it, Aggie; 
it will give ma satisfaction on her deathbed.’ Still she did n’t 
open her mouth ; but I could see in her face that she meant to die 
first before she would yield. Then Buck’s mother said, ‘ Buck 
can ride to town in a little while to get the license, and come 
by and get Parson Thompson ; he stayed last night at Mrs. 
Vaughn’s, and that’s right on the road.’ Buck now came 
’round to her and took her by the hand, which was hanging 
limp by her side, and said, ‘ May I, Aggie? It won’t be but 
a few weeks sooner, honey, and you know I ’m most distracted 
’bout your trouble.’ Just then the Doctor turned to go out, 
and, would you think it, she just whirled around, crying, 
‘ No, no ! I won’t, I can’t ! Oh, you all don’t know ! Oh, 
Doctor, save me ! ’ and she flung herself right into his arms. 
‘ Hush, girl ; you don’t know what you are saying ! ’ and he 
just let her down on the floor. ‘ Yes I do know, but I can’t 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 1\*J 

help it ! You know you said you loved me and would take 
care of me, and I won’t marry Buck ! ’ and the poor thing 
fainted dead away. 4 Fool I ’ the Doctor said, and stepped 
’round her, and, going out, got on his horse and rode off. I 
had seen and heard enough, and wanted to go too, but I 
would n’t have forced my company on him then for^the world. 
When they got the girl on the bed and put water on her face, 
she came to, and started up wild-like, and then she seemed to 
remember all ; she shivered and muttered, * I have ruined us 
all, and him too ; ’ then she moaned, and turning her face to 
the wall put her apron over her face and lay like she was dead. 
Buck had stood all the while like one in a dream ; now he put 
his hat on with both hands and went out : I don’t want to see 
anybody’s face look like his ever again. Some one called out 
that the old woman was dead ; *it was true. I wonder if she 
understood it all.” 

“ Mamma, do you believe he deceived the poor girl ? ” 

“ Believe ! there is no believing about it ; of course he did. 
He made love to her in his careless, easy way, never stopping 
to think the creature would be fool enough to expect anything 
to come of it. He did not dream the consequences would 
find him out so soon, and he had no time to prevent. He is 
just the kind of man to do it. Don’t doubt he talks love to 
every girl he can get to listen to him. Still, the mischief is 
done, all the same. She might have married Buck, who is a 
heap too good for her, if Dr. Conway hadn’t put nonsense 
into her head ; and the poor fool has made it so public, scan- 
dal is bound to come of it. He did very wrong, very wrong." 

Jennie has been rocking violently while her mother speaks, 
with pearly teeth pressed into rosy lip, dilated eyes, and hands 
clasped over her throbbing heart. She can keep it back no 
longer. 


148 


BOB DEAN. 


“ I don’t care if he did ! It was her own fault ! I know 
she threw herself at him ! I won’t give him up ! I won’t ! 

I won’t ! Nobody shall take him from me ! Oh, mamma ! 
mamma! what shall I do?” and she fell into her mother’s 
arms in a torrent of tears. 

“Why, Jennie, my child! I didn’t know! Of course I 
did n’t know, yet I suspected, too ; but they all love you and 
you treat them all alike — how could I know ? Poor child ! 
my pet child ! Try not to think of him any more ; he is not 
worthy of you, Precious.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care, mamma ! I love him, and I must have 
him — I will have him ! He is no worse than other men, and 
I love him ! I love him so ! ” 

“ Does he know, Jennie? Are you engaged ? ” 

“Of course not, mammal I won’t let him know. He 
makes love to me every time he has a chance, but I throw him 
off because he courts all the other girls too. He loves Mary 
Lipscomb better than he loves me, now, but I don’t believe 
she would marry him ; I don’t intend she shall. Oh, mamma ! 
it would kill me if she should ! ” and she lay a perfect tem- 
pest of tears in her mother’s bosom, while that mother’s heart 
was aching for her, and the mother’s brain busy with planning 
for her. She had never refused her anything in her life that 
she cried for, and never had she wept like this before. What 
should she do to stop the tears ? She could not bear to see. 
her cry; her precious, only child, her baby — something must 
be done to comfort her or she certainly would make herself 
sick. She should do as she pleased — so she should, and trust 
to luck to bring it all right in the future. It did not matter 
so much whom a girl married anyway, so she managed him 
afterwards ; and if Jennie could n’t manage Dr. Conway, why, 
she could. Raising the wet face up to her own, she kissed it, 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. I49 

and said in the cooing tone a mother would use to soothe a 
grieved child, 

“ Get up, darling, and dry your pretty eyes, and we will 
talk about it. If you love him so, you shall have him. We 
will manage. I believe he is well meaning, after all, and, as 
you say, no worse than other men. Now, listen. He will 
speak to me of what I saw out yonder, and I will treat the 
whole matter as of not the least consequence — that the girl is 
a simpleton to have viewed common politeness from a gentle- 
man as the attentions of a lover. He will agree that this is 
all so, but at the same time he would prefer that I should not 
mention it to any one. Of course, I would n’t think of such a 
thing, and he will be under obligation to me, and afraid to 
displease me, and so forth ; but I will take care that Mary 
Lipsco?nb and her mother hear of it. Mary is not like you ; ” 
— she pressed her child to her heart to take the pain out of 
the words — “ it will make all the difference in the world to 
her ; it will be all over with him there. He will come to us 
for comfort, and we will comfort him. He is a nice man 
anyway, and I always liked him. We will take care that he 
does not get into any more scrapes of this kind.” 

Jennie sits up now, and looks at the fire. The tears have 
ceased, but her voice is very piteous as she says, 

“ If Mary loves him, and I think she does some, I shall be 
very sorry for her, but I can’t help it; I can’t give him up.” 

As might have been expected, dinner that day was rather 
an embarrassing affair. Jennie was glad Bob Dean was not 
present. On school-days he was accustomed to take a lunch- 
basket, like the boys, and took dinner with them, thus mak- 
ing sure they were out of mischief. Mrs. Brown was very 
busy about her carving, and was altogether non-committal. 
Jennie was unusually chatty, entertaining the Doctor with 

13* 


150 


BOB DEAN. 


sketches from the book she was reading ; she knew he did not 
hear one thing in five that she said, and was watching her 
mother with furtive eyes all the while ; but it suited her as 
well to-day, so long as unpleasant silence was avoided. Again 
she thanked her lucky stars that Bob was away; “ for I 
couldn’t have fooled him; those gray eyes of his see every- 
thing.” Dinner over, she escaped to her own room, saying, 

“ Sorry to leave you so abruptly, but really I am crazy to 
finish my book. ’ ’ 

But when she reached her room she took no notice of her 
book, which lay open, face downward, on the floor ; instead, 
she went and leaned on the table in front of the long mirror, 
and looked into the reflection of her own black eyes, which 
now had little dark circles under them, brought there by her 
morning’s tears. Looked on, but saw nothing; for her little 
hands were pressed tightly over her aching heart, and she was 
listening with all her soul to the sound of the Doctor’s foot- 
steps going into her mother’s room below. When he rose 
from the table, he had said, 

“Mrs. Brown, I would like a few moments’ conversation 
with you when you are at leisure.” 

“ All right, Doctor. Go into my room, and I will come 
in as soon as I lock up my safe and closet doors.” 

“It will all come out right yet,” she added to herself as 
he went out, but there was a tug at her heart-strings, for this 
work she had undertaken for her only child went against her 
better feelings. An hour afterwards she went up to Jennie’s 
room, and said, 

“ It ’s all right, dear ; he is satisfied that I don’t think him 
much to blame, and he thinks it very generous in me to ex- 
culpate him as I do ; so many would have viewed it differ- 
ently ; but he does not want you to know anything about it ; 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 1 5 I 

so remember, you are in total ignorance. I am going out to 
the funeral to take notes, and see if anything has got out. I 
think the family will try to keep it quiet, and get her to marry 
Buck yet, if he will have her — just what she ought to do. 
What business has the like of her got to be thinking of Dr. 
Conway. * ’ 

Mrs. Vinson’s funeral took place next morning. About 
ten o’clock groups of neighbors gathered at the church-house; 
then the plain coffin containing the remains of the deceased 
arrived in a two-horse wagon, followed by a second, bearing 
the afflicted family. At the tolling of the bell, all proceeded 
to the burying-ground in the edge of the village. There were 
but few equipages out, for it was morning and week-day; 
the intimate friends of the family were, like themselves, poor 
and humble; and all others had something else to do. Had it 
been Sunday, or even afternoon, the attendance had been more 
notable, both as to style and number. Some of our friends are 
here — Mrs. Brown for one. We know her object. Mary Lips- 
comb, too. She has come to meet Laura and take her home. 
Her kind heart goes out tenderly to the afflicted girl. Mrs. 
Lipscomb has so far recovered as to be able to go about the 
house, and no longer needs her daughter’s constant care. A 
casual observer might take Mary to be one of the mourners, 
for her gentle face gives token of the sympathy she entertains 
for these distressed people, or I should say the distressed per- 
son, for Laura alone gives evidence of any acute grief. Agnes 
has stayed at home, and the widow is too used to trouble to 
“take on much.” She, however, is clad in “rusty” black, 
and makes frequent use of a very stiff and very dingy hand- 
kerchief, which she leaves folded in a small square, contenting 
herself with the use of the corners. Her boys show an unac- 
customed profusion of starched collars and badly blackened 


152 


BOB DEAN. 


shoes. Dr. Conway is here, too ; why, I am not prepared to 
say. Mrs. Brown thought that if she had been in his place 
she would have stayed away. He did not mingle with the 
crowd around the open grave, but stood at a little distance 
on an elevated knoll under a spreading oak, as if for military 
resistance. There he stood and pulled his beard, and watched 
the group below. Not far from him was Buck McQuillan, 
also standing a little apart, with his wide hat hiding his eyes, 
and his handkerchief knotted around his neck. He had 
added to his toilet, out of respect to the occasion, a pair of 
long buckskin gauntlets, and “store” boots, with high heels 
and red tops, stamped with the ubiquitous, five-pointed Texas 
star. It is needless to say that these brilliant tops were out- 
side his pantaloons, and that they were furthermore adorned 
with Mexican spurs. But Buck was not observing the crowd 
half as much as he observed Dr. Conway. And now the min- 
ister is reading the Methodist burial-service. A few sepulchral 
voices sing a dolorous hymn. All heads bow in brief prayer. 
The remains are lowered to their last resting-place, and the 
rattling clods sound their requiem. One by one, then in 
knots of twos and threes, the assembly disperses. Dr. Con- 
way was about to quit his post of observation when Buck ac- 
costed him : 

“ Dr. Conway, I ’d like a few words with you.” 

“Yes?” said the Doctor, the color rising quickly to his 
brow. “ What can I do for you, Mr. McQuillan? ” 

“’Tain’t wuth while fur any misters to pass betwixt us, 
Doctor; we ’ve got to have a settle;;^;//.” 

“I do not know that you owe me anything, sir, unless you 
propose to assume the payment of Mrs. Vinson’s bill,” said 
the Doctor, pretending to construe the man’s words literally. 

“ Now look a yere, Dr. Conway, yer need n’t er let on ’sef 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 


153 


yer don’t know what I mean. Ef I don’t owe you nothin’ 
you owe me right smart, and I ’m a-goin’ ter have satisfaction 
outen yer, too. Ef yer don’t show no white feather, but ’ll 
come up and meet me like a man, it will be a fair fight; but 
ef yer begin to sneak outen it, an’ ’pear like you can’t under- 
stan’ plain talk, why I ’ll jist take my satisfaction whenever I 
gits ready. Now ye’ve heerd what I ’s got to say, what do 
you say ? ’ ’ 

“ I have to say that you had better attend to your own con- 
cerns, sir, and that it is hardly a safe thing to threaten a man 
publicly at this day, and in the present status of our laws.” 

“So? You got a right smart to say, an’ in er mighty few 
words it seems. I ’ll answer yo’ remark, one at er time. I 
think I am a ’tending ter my own concerns. Ef it ain’t my 
concern when you an’ sich come along an’ interfere betwixt 
me an’ my sweetheart, I don’t know when it is my concern ! 
We was jist as content like as could be, till you put in yo’ 
sneakin’ face and ’ticed her ’way from me with yo’ lyin’ 
tongue. An’ now it ’s all up betwixt us, dog on yer ! As to 
threat’nin’ you publicly, I don’t see no public ’roun’ ; they ’re 
all gone; and / wouldn’t ’vise ye to go an’ give notice thet 
I ’d threat’ned ye, or somebody mought find out what ye hed 
done. ’Bout the laws, I ain’t afeered of no law now; fur 
what ’s a man’s life when he hain’t nothin’ ter live for? As 
for the status , I don’t know what yer mean by that, an’ I 
don’t keer, nuther.” 

Dr. Conway was no coward as far as the physical man went, 
but as we have seen before he was very much afraid of public 
opinion, and he seldom lost perfect self-control in an emer- 
gency. Buck’s insults stung him, and for a moment the hot 
blood coursed through him and stained cheek and brow. He 
felt strongly tempted to raise the powerful arm, which hung so 


154 


BOB DEAN. 


passively at his side, and fell the impudent fellow at a stroke ; 
he had no doubt of his ability, though Buck was stout and 
sinewy. But he was habitually accustomed to reconsider 
every impulse before he acted, and the reconsideration in this 
instance showed him plainly that what the man said about 
making their quarrel public was literally true. People would 
inquire what it was about, and some people would hear things 
he did not want them to. Yes, he would swallow the insult ; 
meet it with contempt alone, and would say what he could to 
pacify the injured boor. These thoughts flashed through his 
mind in far less time than we have consumed in considering 
them, and there had been only the pause of an instant when 
he answered with as much unction as his anger would allow, 

‘ 1 Come now, McQuillan; you have worked yourself into 
a passion with no reason. I ’ve said nothing about re- 
porting you, and I’ve done nothing against you with your 
sweetheart; it is imaginary on your part as well as hers;” 
— but he looked down and blushed darker as he said it — “ I 
have only showed the young lady common politeness, which 
she deserves, and if she misconstrued my intentions it is not 
my fault certainly. You go home now, my man, and talk it 
over with her ; I think you will find it all right. I have not 
meant any harm to any one, and it is hardly the fair thing to 
hold me responsible for other people’s mistakes.” He was 
looking away from Buck ; it made him uncomfortable to meet 
the keen, hot eyes — and giving a parting stroke to his beloved 
beard, as if to restore his dignity which he felt had been sadly 
ruffled, he walked away, without raising his eyes to the face 
of his angry companion. Had he done so, perhaps he had 
felt less comfortable as he joined Mrs. Brown, who was wait- 
ing at a little distance down the road, and watching him 
while she talked with Mary Lipscomb. 


THREE STARTLING REVELATIONS. 1 5 5 

Buck was all impatience to speak as the Doctor left him, 
but in his anger was struggling for words. Now, when his ad- 
versary had gone, he licked his dry lips, and found speech, 
as he too went off for his mustang pony, which was hitched 
to a haw-bush near by. 

“ Curse him ! I ’ll come up with him yit, ef he does treat 
me like a dog — not wuth his noticin’. Did n’t mean nothin’ ? 
I say — ’sef my Aggie was the gal to set store by a man what 
nuver talked sugar-sweet to her ; like ’s ef she nuver had no- 
body to court her before, when I know I had to putty nigh 
git down on my knees to her ’fore she’d take any notice to 
me ! ’T ain’t her I blame, nuther. Dog on him ! ” Strik- 
ing the pony with the “ quirt ” which hung on his wrist, he 
galloped into the woods which lay between him and home. 

Dr. Conway exchanged significant glances with Mrs. Brown 
as the man dashed out of sight. She looked a little anxious, 
but the Doctor’s brown moustaches were lifted with a scornful 
smile as he assisted her into her buggy and handed her the 
reins. 

‘ ‘ Mary, you and Laura get in too, and I will put you out 
at your gate, if you will not go home with me to dinner. It 
is getting too warm for you to walk. Oh, get in ; no ex- 
cuses ! ” and the kind woman made room for them beside her 
and drove off, leaving the Doctor to get his horse and follow 
at leisure. 

“ Mary, ask Laura how Agnes is,” said Mrs. Brown. 

“Has she been sick too?” inquired Mary, before putting 
the question to the mute. 

** Well, not exactly sick, but very much affected, and, you 
know” — here Mrs. Brown looked over her shoulder at the 
Doctor, who was riding rapidly up, and, closing her eyes, 
shook her head in a very mysterious manner. Mary did not 


156 


BOB DEAN. 


understand, but nevertheless asked the question of Laura, who 
was gazing with wide-open eyes at them both, with a half- 
conception of what they were talking about. As she caught' 
the full meaning of Mary’s question, she drew a quick breath, 
throwing at Mrs. Brown a look of mingled fear and resent- 
ment. She answered “ she is sick,” and turned her blue eyes 
up with a piteous plea for secresy, which Mrs. Brown would 
not see, but continued her talk with Mary. But if .she had 
counted on any confidential chat during that ride home, she 
had not given due consideration to Dr. Conway, for he did 
not seem to favor any such, keeping close behind the buggy, 
and having a great deal to discuss with both ladies. When 
they reached Mrs. Lipscomb’s gate, he was quickly off his 
horse to assist them in getting out, and then he held the gate 
open for Mary to go in. 

“Won’t you come in and see mother, Mrs. Brown?” 

“Thank you, I can’t now; it is dinner-time, and I must 
get back ; but I will come soon.” 

“ There is no one at home to have dinner but Jennie, and 
I am sure she could do without you just this once. I will 
give you and the Doctor something to eat.” 

Mrs. Brown thought of her child, all impatience to hear 
her account — the budget of “notes” she had taken. 

“Jennie would be lonely and uneasy about me. Besides, 
Bet is washing to-day, and I must look after her , too.” 

“If the something Miss Mary offers to furnish us means 
pies , like some I had here once before, 't would certainly be 
a great temptation ; but, alas ! the fates are against me, too. 
I’ve a call to make on my way home,” and Dr. Conway 
petted his moustache with the gloved forefinger of his left 
hand, and smiled enough to reveal the very white teeth gleam- 
ing underneath. 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 


is; 


Mrs. Brown wondered why he did not go on and attend to 
his call, instead of playing lacky to her and old Button, in a 
manner so foreign to his usual unconsciousness of any effort 
to be required of his huge and elegant person. She moreover 
wondered if he could suspect her fidelity to their contract, 
and had taken this measure to prevent any confidences be- 
tween them. 

“Little use, sir, if that is the game. What a woman wills 
she will, as you will find out when you ’ve been married as 
long as I have.” (Aloud), “Give my love to your mother, 
dear. Good-bye! ” and she and Button and Dr. Conway went 
off together on the most excellent of terms, seemingly. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 

I N the afternoon of the same day of the funeral, Mary and 
her mother were once more together in their sunny sit- 
ting-room. Mrs. Lipscomb was beginning to exhibit the ap- 
pearance of returning health, and was now engaged in some 
knitting-work. Mary was sewing. She had been telling her 
mother about the funeral, and whom she had seen there. 
She mentioned Mrs. Brown’s mysterious manner and remarks. 

“ She began to tell me something, when Dr. Conway rode 
up and she stopped ” — and Mary did the same, for she con- 
cluded she had nothing really to tell her mother, and would 
wait until she had the conclusion of the secret. That it was 
something concerning the Doctor she had little room to 
doubt, and now her mind ran off to thinking about him — no 

14 


153 


BOB DEAN. 


unusual channel was it, either. There has been a change in 
him since their interview in this room a week ago. Only a 
week? Can it be? He seems far from her now, and life is 
not as bright as it was. He avoids her, while evidently try- 
ing not to appear to do so ; and he is constrained in her pres- 
ence, affecting with a bad grace a manner free and jocular, 
as to a common friend, instead of the once pleading tender- 
ness which appealed so irresistibly to her heart ; yet, several 
times when not very near him, she has glanced up and sur- 
prised one of the old looks, full of love ; but he would in- 
stantly disclaim it by an increased carelessness of manner, 
and bestow on her a stare, expressing nothing but blankness. 
Yesterday he informed her that he considered Mrs. Lipscomb 
out of danger, and would dismiss the case; yet, with the best 
of opportunity, had he desired to use it, made no approach 
to the subject left to be discussed when this happy day should 
arrive. He is offended with the repulse she gave his tender 
demonstrations that day, and is waiting for signs of encour- 
agement from her before he renews them. Well, she is get- 
ting a little offended, too, and will hardly offer any overtures 
which might compromise her dignity. She is proud as well 
as he, and cannot feel that she has been in the wrong. More- 
over, she has caught something of her mother’s caution, and 
she does not believe in him as fully as she used to ; yet — yet 
she loves him, and would be ashamed to have the sighs 
counted which have burst from her heavy heart this last weary 
week. How will it all end ? Even should they come to an 
understanding, her mother would not be satisfied, for her lik- 
ing has not increased, Mary can see, though they have made 
no allusion to the subject since that first talk. Another 
sigh. 

Mrs. Lipscomb has been counting stitches in her stocking, 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 1 59 

and setting off the heel all the while her child has been think- 
ing her thoughts, but she has finished now, and her tongue is 
loosed. 

a What about the Doctor, Baby?” 

Mary starts. Has she been thinking aloud ? She blushes 
as she answers, 

“What do you mean, mother?” 

“Has he found language in which to express his feelings 
yet?” The words might have been sarcastic, only that the 
motherly solicitude gave them a different meaning. 

“About a week ago he spoke directly to the point, but I 
put him off on your account, and he seems offended with me 
since.” 

She has gained control of herself now, and speaks so very 
quietly that her mother cannot tell how she feels about it. 

“And have you become offended too, because he is?” 

“I can hardly say, mother. I do not think I gave him 
just cause of offence, and I cannot but regard it ungenerous 
in him to harbor such a feeling.” 

“If he can be ungenerous to you at this stage of affairs, 
he could be unjust when the future should give him power.” 

A pause of some moments, while a shadow of care broods 
in the girl’s dark eyes. Only a dilation of her delicate nos- 
trils, and a firm setting of her lips tell of the struggle it is to 
be calm as she answers, 

“ I am partly to blame. I spoke sharply and coldly to him, 
which his words did not warrant.” 

“Tell me why you did it, darling. You would not have 
done it without good cause.” She has perfect confidence in 
her child’s intuitive feeling, and wants to draw her out. 

“ It was his look, mother. I cannot express it to you, but 
it seemed to be a different being who looked out of his eyes, 


i6o 


BOB DEAN. 


and it was that one I answered before I stopped to think. I 
can’t tell you — don’t ask me.” 

“ And, nevertheless, I understand you, Mary. I have seen 
that other being peer out through his eyes myself — only it is 
not another’s, but his very own soul looking out through its 
windows. He generally keeps a fairer picture in front of the 
pane, but sometimes he forgets. Oh, my child, I cannot trust 
him with your precious life. He is not true, and you must get 
your heart back from him.” 

“ But, oh ! mother, I love him. I cannot deny to myself, 
neither will I to you, that I do love him ; I did not know how 
well until this week, when he has been so far from me, and I 
have been so lonely without him. I wish I had never seen 
him. I never knew any trouble before.” At last the gentle 
lips are trembling, and big tears well up in her eyes as her 
mother draws her head down on her bosom for comfort, even 
as Jennie Brown’s mother had done yesterday because of this 
same man ; but the motherly counsel is different. 

“ Let me help you, precious child, to give him up. I don’t 
believe you love him as well as you think you do. You love 
only what you fancied him to be. Your idol is mostly alloy, 
and when you have fully learned how greatly the base metal 
preponderates in him, your affection will not survive the 
knowledge. I am getting well now, and next week we will 
go over to Cousin Tom’s ranche, and spend the Christmas 
holidays with him, and Belle, and the children ; and we will 
be happy again, and forget all about love and matrimony.” 
She kissed her fair child, and pretended not to see the drawn 
lines of pain about her mouth, which told how great was the 
nervous pressure brought to keep up the courage of the 
wounded heart. 

“I am very, very grateful, mother, that you are almost well. 
Do you feel nearly as well as you used to?” 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. l6l 

“Yes; I believe I feel quite as well. The only uneasiness 
I feel is about this place on my temple. I am afraid it is 
growing to a tumor. I can distinctly feel the blood pulse in 
it.” She laid her finger on a dark protuberance which had 
formed a little above the level of her eye, while the wound 
on her cheek was healing. i 

“ Did you ask the doctor about it? What does he say? ” 
said Mary, as she arose, and bending down put her hand on 
it too. 

“ He called it some hard name — aneurism, I believe ; said 
the artery he tied had formed a sac here ; that it might leave 
a blue-looking tumor, but he did not think it would grow any 
larger, nor did he apprehend any danger from it, and he hoped 
it would be absorbed in time. Let us not think any more 
about it now, Mary. Here comes Clarence Vaughn for his music 
lesson. Mr. Dean’s school must be out a little earlier to-day.” 

Mary opened the door for her pupil, while Mrs. Lipscomb 
kept her seat by the fire and went on with her knitting, with- 
out interrupting the lesson, which made rapid progress. The 
hour passed quickly, for both teacher and pupil were wholly 
interested. As the youth rose from the instrument, he said, 

“ Miss Mary, Houston Ludwig told me to ask you if he 
might come and take music lessons, too?” 

Perhaps Houston had said something else, too, which Clar- 
ence did not wish to repeat, for it was with a kept-back smile 
that he delivered the message. 

“Houston? No; he shall not come. He does not want 
to learn music ; he only wants a chance to tease me, as he 
does in Sunday-school,” said Mary, her tone fault-finding, 
but her smiling face exhibiting only the kindest appreciation 
of the offender. 

“ He told me to ask you just as I v as leaving school. Mr. 

14* L 


162 


BOB DEAN. 


Dean heard him, and said, ‘ Tell Miss Mary pray grant his 
request. If music has the power to “soothe the savage 
breast,” perhaps it may partially civilize him.’ He laughed 
when he said it, and had his hand on Houston’s shoulder. 
It ’s astonishing how he manages that boy, Miss Mary. Hous- 
ton thanked him for his ‘ recommend,’ and came off singing 
‘do, re, mi ’ at the top of his voice.” 

It is a happy trio we see now — soon to be filled with con- 
sternation and grief. 

“ Houston is not half so bad, in reality, as some folks who 
pretend to be better,” remarked Mrs. Lipscomb, rising and 
gathering up her knitting-work to go out. Her ball of thread 
fell on the floor, and as she stooped to recover it she uttered 
a smothered exclamation, and when she raised her head Mary 
was shocked to see the bright red blood spurting from the tu- 
mor on her temple. 

“ Oh, mother ! mother ! ” was all she said, as she sprang to 
her, placed her flat on the sofa, and pressed her handkerchief 
tightly over the bleeding artery. 

“ Oh, Clarence, run to Mrs. Brown’s for Dr. Conway ! 
Quick ! Oh, please first step to the kitchen — no, through 
this door here — for Laura. Beckon to her; she could not 
hear me call. Oh, mother ! mother ! what shall I do ?” 

“Don’t be frightened, child. Just press hard with your 
fingers, and be as calm as possible. We must not get excited.” 

Clarence flew, as on the sandals of Mercury, and in a few 
minutes was bounding up the steps at Mrs. Brown’s, not even 
stopping to knock. Bob Dean, standing at his window up- 
stairs, had seen him coming. He knew he had been at Mrs. 
Lipscomb’s, and saw dire news in his white face, so he was 
not unprepared to hear the tidings which greeted him when 
he met the boy in the hall below. 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 163 

“Oh, Mr. Dean, where is the doctor? Mrs. Lipscomb 
has broken an artery, and is bleeding to death ! Miss Mary 
sent — ” 

“Go on up-stairs, Clarence. The doctor may be in his 
room — front one, on the right ; if he is not, come down and 
find Mrs. Brown, and get a horse and go after him wherever 
he is. I will not "wait for you.” 

Bob saw nothing around him as he rushed down the street ; 
knew nothing, save that never before had the distance been 
so long between him and Mary Lipscomb, whom his imagina- 
tion could picture as in the scene we have described. He 
found her kneeling beside the lounge on which her mother 
lay, still holding her handkerchief to the bleeding artery with 
all her strength ; but she had not succeeded in wholly stop- 
ping the flow of blood, which had escaped in such quantity 
by this time as to cause faintness. Laura was rendering such 
assistance as lay in her power, by bringing water, basins, 
sponges, camphor, etc. Bob could see at a glance that things 
were becoming desperate. Just as he entered, Mary turned 
her head away from the sight of her mother’s white face, and 
the agony in her dark eyes was piteous to see ; but when she 
saw Bob, she felt that help was come and took courage. 

“What is the trouble, Miss Mary? Let me see, please,” 
and, gently removing her hand, he quickly placed his fore- 
finger on the artery just below the rupture. 

“I see; it is a branch of the temporal artery. She has 
lost some blood, too. Let me get the thumb of my other 
hand on the wound, now — this way. It cannot bleed any 
more while I hold it, and I will hold it until help comes. 
You need not be alarmed, Miss Mary.” 

“Where is the doctor? is he coming?” 

“ I do not know whether he is at home or not. I left Clar- 


164 


BOB DEAN. 


ence to find him ; but I hope he will be here soon. Your 
mother is turning sick; give her a drink of water; sponge 
her face with camphor. Can you and Laura raise her head 
a little higher ? Yes ; that will do. Now keep her lips wet, 
and fan her gently. Sit down, please.” 

Mary felt that a master will was in authority, and she 
obeyed, unquestioning. The genuine interest in their beloved 
patient, and sympathy for her own distress, were apparent 
enough in his grave, touched countenance, and she felt that 
it was a kind of stay and comfort to her. 

They sat thus for full ten minutes without speaking, watch- 
ing with solicitous eyes the dear, white face before them — 
Bob devoting his whole nerve to suppressing the flow of blood ; 
Mary gently moistening Mrs. Lipscomb’s lips, and fanning 
her to keep her from fainting ; while Laura busied herself in 
clearing away the blood, and doing many little offices of use- 
fulness, the need of which her quick eyes detected. Mary 
observed that Bob’s hand was beginning to tremble. 

“ Can’t we do something, Mr. Dean, to stay the blood be- 
sides to hold it that way ? Is there no way to put a bandage 
on it?” 

“ No ; we, that is, you and I, could not put on a bandage 
which would sufficiently restrict the vessel. Laura could not 
help, because she could not understand my directions. If 
we had another person we might. But I can hold it some 
time yet.” 

“ Oh, I wish the doctor would come ! I am afraid he was 
not at home,” and she went to the door to look. 

“ I expect Clarence had to go somewhere after him,” and 
Bob wished in his heart that it was in his power to supply all 
her need, both as physician and comforter. 

After another interval, Mrs. Brown arrived. She kissed 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 1 6 $ 

Mary, and going up to the couch took Mrs. Lipscomb’s 
hand. 

“ Dr. Conway left home just after dinner to attend a call 
over on Little River, nearly ten miles,” she said. “He did 
not expect to get back till in the night ; but Clarence Vaughn 
has gone after him.” 

“If he has to go all the way, it will be some time yet be- 
fore he can get back, and Clarence may not find him there,” 
said Bob. 

They were all silent and anxious, until Mrs. Lipscomb 
moved her head slightly as if in pain. 

“Miss Mary,” said Bob, “I think we had better put on 
that ligature now, if we can. The pressure of my hand is 
painful to her. Get me a large handkerchief, a silk one is 
best — stay ; you need not go for it. Mrs. Brown, if you will 
put your hand in the pocket of my coat, behind, you will find 
one that will do. Yes; that is it. Thanks. Now tie a very 
hard knot in the middle, and get a round stick, from four to 
six inches long — your curling stick will do, Miss Mary,” and 
he glanced with a half smile at her rippling braids. 

His quick orders and cheerful voice restored the confidence 
and courage of all present. Mrs. Lipscomb opened her eyes, 
and watched them with interest, though she did not venture 
to speak. 

“Now, Mrs. Brown,” said Bob, “you lift her head a little 
while Miss Mary slips the handkerchief under. Now tie the 
ends together, put the stick under it, and twist it. You had 
better close your eyes, Mrs. Lipscomb, for we will have to 
put the bandage low over your brow. Now draw the knot 
down, so that it will come immediately in the place my thumb 
is as I take it away. Turn the stick till it is as tight as she 
can bear. There; I think that will do.” 


BOB DEAN. 


1 66 

“But, Mr. Dean, she cannot bear that long; it must be 
painful,” said Mary, anxiously. 

“ I know it, Miss Mary. As soon as the doctor comes, he 
will take up the artery and tie it. It is a very simple opera- 
tion. I could easily do it myself if I had his instruments.” 

“ I wish he would come.” The look of her eyes did not 
belie her words. 

“Oh, he has not had time enough yet. He cannot get 
here before night, unless he had started before Clarence met 
him. I am afraid it is hardly safe to wait for him.” 

It was so unusual for Bob to suggest difficulties, or disturb 
one’s mental comfort, that Mary’s apprehensions were aroused 
anew. Bob was looking intently at her, and feeling his ground 
carefully, when he assayed the next remark. 

“I understand that Dr. Stanhope returned from New Or- 
leans last night ; would you be willing we should send for him, 
Miss Mary?” 

It was a moment before she answered ; and in that moment 
several revelations flashed upon her mental perceptions. First, 
that Bob Dean had suspicion of the interest she held in Dr. 
Conway aside from his profession ; and she could not control 
the crimson flood which swept over her cheeks and brow, 
though she knew it corroborated his opinion. Secondly, that 
Bob did not have an over-measure of confidence in the doc- 
tor ; but whether the lack was towards physician or man, she 
could not tell — enough, that she felt angry with Bob for it. 
Thirdly, and most wonderful of all, she had more faith in 
Bob Dean’s judgment than in any other body’s, just now. 
This thirdly prevailed, and made her resolve to place all the 
responsibility in his hands that he would consent to bear; so 
she answered, looking full into his eyes, 

“ Yes ; I am willing to have any one whom you think could 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 1 67 

relieve mother. Dr. Conway could not object to the calling 
of another physician in this emergency.” 

“ She still consults his feelings,” thought Bob. “ I wonder 
if it is as physician or as a lover.” 

The old look of repressed pain came back and settled on 
his face. 

“ Dr. Stanhope came home sick,” said Mrs. Brown. “ He 
could not come. He sent for Dr. Conway this morning. 
They think he has pneumonia.” 

“So we have no help then,” said Bob, getting up, and 
pacing back and forth across the room. Suddenly turning, 
he stood before Mary, and looked down at her as she sat by 
the lounge, saying, 

“ Miss Mary, would you be willing, if I can get the instru- 
ments, to let me take up the artery ? I can do it as well as 
any one, if you are willing to trust me.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Dean, you pain me. Indeed I would be willing 
and very grateful. Why need you ask me? ” 

“ Forgive me. I ask because I am unwilling to assume the 
responsibility. I would not do it, with your consent, only it 
is unsafe for the rupture to remain long in its present condi- 
tion, and I should not be astonished if Dr. Conway does not 
get here before morning. Mrs. Brown, do you know where 
the doctor keeps the key to his surgical case — if he carries it 
with him, or if he has his instruments with him?” 

“ I don’t know about the key. He only took his little med- 
icine case with him,” answered Mrs. Brown. 

“ I will go and see. Don’t let any one come into the room 
to excite her. Have you any morphine, Miss Mary ? it will 
be good for her to take an opiate.” 

Mary brought the desired article, and Bob very quietly 
measured out a portion and gave it to her to administer, while 
he stood and watched her. 


1 68 


BOB DEAN. 


“ I believe you were cut out for a doctor,” said Mrs. Brown, 
smiling. 

“Think so? Much obliged. There are few other things 
I had rather succeed in. But I must ‘ cut out ’ now for some- 
thing else. I will not be gone long.” 

“ Could not some one else go, Mr. Dean? I am afraid for 
you to leave. Tell me what you want, and Laura and I will 
go,” plead Mary. 

“ It is growing dark, Miss Mary. I cannot send you. Be- 
sides, no one else could get them for me as I can, provided I can 
get them at all. I could not tell you so you could understand. 
Do not be afraid; be of good courage, little child. Our 
Heavenly Father knoweth our afflictions.” 

He laid his hand for a moment on hers, as they stood in 
the door together, before he went out. She felt that a prayer 
was going up for her, and the thought, together with the few 
words of comfort, opened the floodgates of her burdened 
heart. She passed swiftly out into the gathering gloom, and 
fled around the house to her own room, where for a little 
while she let her tears have free flow. Then that Father who 
knoweth our afflictions drew her troubled heart to Himself, 
and gave her courage and comfort. When she returned to 
the room where Mrs. Brown was watching beside her mother, 
it was quite dark ; so she busied herself with lighting the 
lamps, which she shaded and set in the back part of the room. 
After giving Laura some directions about the domestic work, 
she came and sat by her mother’s couch. Mrs. Brown saw 
the traces of her tears, and thought, 

“ Poor child ! I am glad she can cry ; it will do her good. 

I am afraid there is many a tear close by for her. I will not 
tell her anything about that affair now; she has trouble 
enough; //can wait.” 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 169 

Mrs. Lipscomb was evidently enduring much pain from the 
pressure of the ligature ; and the silent group listened anx- 
iously for the sound of those brisk, firm footsteps, which they 
all felt could bring relief. They come now, with a clear ring 
on the gravel walk, and up the steps, and Bob comes in with 
a cheerful greeting : 

“It is all right. I found the key and got what I wanted. 
Miss Mary, you must be mediator if Dr. Conway resents my 
meddling.” 

He laid down several curious-looking instruments, the sight 
of which made Mary shudder. Her strong, sweet face showed 
anxiety, but no lack of confidence in the surgeon. Bob could 
see this, and thought to give her a ground for her faith as he 
said, 

“Ladies, that you may not think my assurance unwarrant- 
able, I must tell you that this work is not altogether new to 
me. I served an apprenticeship of eight months last year in 
a large hospital, where such operations as this were of daily 
occurrence. ’ ’ 

“I do not doubt it, Mr. Dean, and you may do it very 
well ; but you must excuse me from looking on. The simple 
thought makes me sick,” and Mrs. Brown moved away to the 
window. 

“ Is that so? Well, I shall need a little assistance here.” 

“I will help, Mr. Dean. I must look on, anyway; I 
couldn’t help that,” said Mary. 

Bob remembered how she had turned white while Dr. Con- 
way was performing that first operation, and he felt somewhat 
doubtful of her, but he concluded to say nothing to shake her 
faith in her own strength. 

We pass over the minutiae of the work, lest, not having 
served our apprenticeship to the profession, we should bungle 

15 


170 


BOB DEAN. 


the surgery, if Bob did not. Suffice to say it was well done. 
He worked quickly and neatly. Mary put in her little help 
when called for, calmly, with no show of flinching ; only a 
tight pressure of the lips telling of any unusual strain on the 
nerves. 

Now the patient is resting quietly, and all ugly-looking 
tools are put out of sight. They sit and rest, and talk awhile, 
relieved and cheerful after their intense anxiety. Presently, 
Laura comes for Mary, and after a brief absence she returns 
to say tea is ready in the dining-room. 

“ Mrs. Brown, will you go in with Mr. Dean? I will stay 
with mother while you eat.” 

“ I could not eat a bite to save my life, Mary. You go 
and wait on Mr. Dean, and send me a cup of coffee by Laura. 
I’ll stay here,” and Mrs. Brown began rocking in her easy 
chair, to signify how very comfortable she would consider the 
arrangement. 

“ Come, then, Mr. Dean,” said Mary 

“Indeed I shall not offer any excuses, for I am hungry, 
and, besides, I have earned my supper,” said Bob, gayly, fol- 
lowing her into the little dining-room, which, it is sufficient 
praise to say, was as neat as her premises always were. 

“ Mr. Dean,” Mary said, as she gave him a cup of tea, “ I 
do not know how to thank you for all you have done to- 
night.” Her voice trembled, so she had to stop. 

“Thank me ! Why, /do not deserve any thanks. I was 
only pleasing myself. Indeed, believe me, Miss Mary, I am 
very proud to have been able to do anything for you.” 

Bob’s heart gave a great thump as he said it, feeling that 
he could gladly lay down his life to save her pain, and yet he 
dare not breathe a word of it. Had Mary Lipscomb pos- 
sessed one-half of Jennie Brown’s vanity, she would have 


BOB DEAN IN AN EMERGENCY. 171 

read his secret then, as he sat opposite her with averted eyes, 
fearing to trust himself to look at her in this unguarded mo- 
ment, while great surges of passion swept over him, threaten- 
ing to break bounds. But the will in this man was accus- 
tomed to rule, and so it did now. Now he leads the talk into 
safer channels, and cheerful, for her sake. 

They go back to the sitting-room, and watch and wait for 
three long hours. Mrs. Lipscomb is sleeping, under the in- 
fluence of the opiate. They talk a little in low, broken sen- 
tences, and wish the doctor would come. The little clock 
has just rung twelve when they hear him at the gate. He 
looks very tired and dispirited, and has evidently ridden hard. 
Bob, in a few words, explains all the circumstances of the 
case, adding, 

“ And now, sir, I will turn my patient over to your skill. 
I hope you will find all right, and pardon my interposi- 
tion.” 

The Doctor’s good manners were equal to the occasion, 
and, as Mrs. Lipscomb had awaked, he proceeded to examine 
the surgery. Then he turned to Mary, and, smiling, said, 

“ I congratulate both you and your mother on the skill of 
this * ’prentice,’ and do not flatter myself that I could have 
done the work any better. But now, I think she had better 
be removed, as gently as possible, to her own room, and un- 
dressed, that she may rest better. It is safer done now than 
later, and she will need to be kept more quiet than is possible 
in this front room.” 

Mary went out and made her mother’s room ready ; then, 
with Mrs. Brown, assisted her to bed. 

“Now, Mary,” said Mrs. Brown, “you will lie down be- 
side her and sleep. It is no use for both of us to sit up, and 
I shall take my turn to-night. You will need all the rest you 
can get, before you are through with this.” 


172 


BOB DEAN. 


“Oh, I could not sleep, Mrs. Brown; it would be no use 
to try. Let me watch, and you rest ; I will call you, if she 
wakes. ’ * 

“ No ; you must do as I say. If you do not sleep, you can 
rest, anyway. But first, you go tell Mr. Dean, I say he must 
go home and go to bed. He will have to be in school to- 
morrow. ” 

“Yes; and I had forgotten that. Oh! Mrs. Brown, he is 
so good and kind.” 

She went back to the gentlemen, who were sitting by the 
hearth talking — Dr. Conway smoking his never-forgotten pipe. 

“ Mr. Dean, Mrs. Brown sent me to say that you must go 
home and retire, so as to be able for your work to-morrow. 
I dislike to send you home ; as much as to say, ‘ now that Dr. 
Conway has come, we have no further use for you ; ’ but it is 
best, I know.” 

There was a little twinkle of fun in her weary eyes, like 
the last sparkle of a dew-drop, ere the sun has drank all its life. 

“Yes; it is best,” 'said Bob; “I can do nothing more for 
you to-night. Give the Doctor a pillow on that lounge, and 
keep him here to-night, in event of another accident, which, 
however, do not understand me to apprehend. ’T would be 
depreciatory to my own work. Good-night ! ” 

“ Good-bye ! ” she said, putting out her hand. She had fol- 
lowed him to the door, and they stood half in the dark. “ You 
say /must not thank you ; but my heart does. If it had not 
been for you, I would have no mother now.” 

Bob covered the long white hand with both of his. He 
must be pardoned if the pressure upon it was warmer than 
mere sympathy warranted. 

“ God bless and protect you, child.” He would have given 
all earthly possession then, to have had the right to draw that 


“THAT OTHER DR. CONWAY.” 


173 


fair head down on his bosom, and press a kiss on the trembling 
lips. 

Poor Bob had to fight his battle all over again that night, 
as he walked home in the dark. 

“ Oh, God ! I thought I was strong, but I am as a mere 
babe, compared to my love for her. I am afraid I shall have 
to go away.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


(< THAT OTHER DR. CONWAY. 



FTER Bob was gone, Mary passed around the yard into 


her little room, as she had done once before to-night ; 
for Bob’s blessing had again unsealed the fountain of her tears, 
and she wanted to escape the sitting-room and Dr. Conway, 
fearing to trust herself alone with him. 

He noticed her avoidance, and fell to wondering. Could 
it be that she wa£“ really angry with him? She had grown 
more and more distant every day, but he had set this down 
to her fine sense of propriety, which, doubtless, was severely 
strained by the very equivocal relationship between them; 
but, while he chafed under it, it really suited his purpose well, 
just now. To use his own words, the Doctor was in a “ sweet 
fix.” It seemed as if those circumstances, to which he had 
referred in his conversation with Bob some days ago, were 
about to decide themselves, as he had predicted they would. 
And the crisis approaching, he could not make up his mind 
to be altogether satisfied with the result. He clearly under- 
stood that Mrs. Brown had him at her mercy, and intended 
he should marry Jennie if she wanted him to ; it was no use 


174 


BOB DEAN. 


to deny the fact that he was very much afraid of Mrs. Brown. 
He intended at present to have her believe that he loved 
Jennie only, and entirely, and that it was a sense of his own 
unworthiness alone, which held him back from an immediate 
declaration of his passion. Nevertheless, he was not certain 
that he would marry the little beauty, if time should reveal 
any path out of this labyrinthian “scrape.” 

If Mary Lipscomb should find out about his disgraceful 
entanglement with Agnes Vinson, she would utterly despise 
him ; and Dr. Conway, like Bob Dean, knew to-night that 
he had never loved Mary so well. But his heart was made of 
different stuff from Bob’s ; and it was not the sight of the sweet 
face, wet with tears, and the unbent lips telling the sore need 
of comfort, which touched his soul, but her quiet avoidance 
of himself, and the dawning fear that he might have to give 
her up. As I said once before about him, when he began to 
suspect he could not have a thing, he immediately found it 
impossible to be happy without it. So, to-night, he was really 
troubled, debating in his mind whether or not he should 
struggle against the chain of circumstances which were fasten- 
ing around him, and about to bind him for life to one woman, 
while certainly more than half — and the better half, too, — of 
his heart, was another’s. Had not his familiar spirit — selfish- 
ness — been leaning over the shoulder next his heart, and 
whispering dreams of luxury to his voluptuous nature, it is 
possible the man had conquered ; but the propitious moment 
passed, and he was left, as usual, undecided. 

Now Mary interrupts his troubled reverie, by coming in 
with some blankets and pillows to make him a couch on the 
lounge. When her task is done, she approaches the fire, and 
asks him, with solicitude, what he thinks of her mother’s 
condition. 


“THAT OTHER DR. CONWAY.” 1 75 

“ I believe it is favorable, Miss Mary. The artery is se- 
curely tied, and I do not think it will give any further trouble. 
Mr. Dean understands the work. She may be pretty weak for 
some time, for she has lost some blood, but you must not feel 
uneasy about her. Can’t you trust me to take care of her?” 
— the last tenderly. 

Poor Mary has no strength for anything to-night, and the 
ready tears come fast again, sparkling like diamonds through 
her white fingers, as she covers her face and turns to the door. 

He put out his hand and detained her, saying: “ Miss Mary, 
you must not weep. Don’t you know it is the undoing of a 
man to see a woman’s tears — any woman’s ; much more, one 
he loves better than life ? I cannot endure it ; you must be 
comforted ; you must let me comfort you, my poor, lonely 
darling ! ” 

His arms are about her now, and he draws her head down 
on his breast, and presses his lips on her hair — he would have 
kissed her face, but her hands cover tightly all of it that is 
not hidden in his bosom, while great waves of sobs quiver 
through her. 

I cannot make excuse for her weakness in permitting the 
Doctor such a liberty, but I know if you will forget to blame, 
and feel with her a little, you will pardon the momentary 
yielding. Her fear for her mother, which has broken down 
her strength and self-control ; the gathering loneliness of the 
past week, when she has felt that between her and this man 
she loves, was yawning a gulf which grew wider with each sun 
and its setting ; she sees, as a shadow, not daring to look fully 
at it, how utterly dreary her life will be when he is gone out 
of it forever : he must go, for her mother does not love him. 
She did not know he would ever speak to her again a word 
of the love for which she was hungering, and he ought not ; 


176 


BOB DEAN. 


but she is like a wrecked mariner, with only a waste of tumult- 
uous grief around her ; and she rests her weary heart on his a 
moment, then, shuddering, draws herself away, covered with 
shame and self-reproach. He tries to hold her, but she will 
not suffer it. 

“Please, let me go.” 

“My darling one, I cannot let you go from me. Come 
what may, I must have you for my own — mine to comfort and 
shield always. You were made for me, and I for you ; I feel 
it, know it.” 

“ Oh, please do not say any more. It cannot, can never 
be, and I have done so very wrong. ’ * 

“ Why can never be ? I now know that your heart is mine, 
and who shall say us nay ? ’ * 

He spoke fiercely, drawn by the fervor of the moment 
entirely out of himself. No titled suitor, with manor waiting 
for his bride, could have been bolder. 

“I cannot tell you, Dr. Conway, now; but you must never 
speak to me of love again. And I must leave you, now.” 

He has her hand in a moment. 

“ I demand to know why, Mary. I have a right to know — ” 

The door opening softly, Mrs. Brown looks in to say that 
Mrs. Lipscomb is awake. 

Mary’s back was toward the door, and she had raised her 
tear-dimmed eyes to the Doctor’s face, resolved to tell him 
the truth, feeling that, as he said, he did have a right to know, 
after what had just passed — why she should one moment suffer 
him to caress her, and in the next forbid him to even speak 
of love. And, looking, she saw such a change sweep over his 
countenance, as he quickly dropped her hand, that she was 
almost frightened ; it was as if the image of a face in a mirror 
had given place to a new one — the first one, strong, and pas- 


1 77 


“THAT OTHER DR. CONWAY.” 

sionate with the burden of love; the second, crest-fallen, 
servile, condemned, and repudiating the first. She turned tc 
look for a cause, and saw only Mrs. Brown, whose eyebrows 
were slightly lifted, but whose face betrayed not a thing. 

Together they went into the sick-room, Mrs. Brown, Mary, 
and that other Dr. Conway — that was what Mary felt about it 
— and found the patient doing well. After the Doctor went 
out, Mrs. Brown again insisted that Mary should lie down to 
sleep. 

“I cannot sleep. It is just as well I should watch and let 
you sleep.” 

Her voice tried to be brave, but was threaded with a hope- 
less cadence, piteous to hear. 

“ That certainly shall not be. I am here to sit up to-night, 
and sit up I will, if I have to assert my rights by force.” Mrs. 
Brown’s tone softened as she added : “ You must rest, child ; 
you look fearfully broken-down.” 

“ I am not much tired,” she answered gently, as she went 
about doing several little things in the room. She sent Laura, 
who was nodding in the chimney-corner, to bed, mended the 
fire, poured out a cup of hot coffee for Mrs. Brown, and placed 
an arm-chair near the fire for her. Then, getting a little, low 
chair, she put it at the foot of her mother’s bed, and sat down, 
leaning her head on the bed. 

“ I will rest very well here, now. I don’t want to leave you 
to-night,” she said. 

The clock ticked softly, Mrs. Lipscomb’s breathing was 
sweet and regular, and but for these, silence had reigned. 
Mary’s body was perfectly still, but her brain was in a tumult. 
Utter self-condemnation swept over her; then in its wake, 
like a return wave, came the swell of self-pity. For she was 
alone now; she had given her heart away, after sacredly 

M 


BOB DEAN. 


I 7 8 

guarding it through the period of girlhood’s gush, that it 
might be unscarred and whole for her womanhood’s lover ; 
she had let it go from her keeping, and it was lost. They 
could never be any more to fcach other, for her mother would 
never consent, and to oppose her will was not to be thought 
of. Besides, there was another barrier creeping up between 
them, which she could not define, but could feel. It was that 
other nature, which she had twice seen looking through his 
eyes — those dear, beautiful eyes which she loved : it was not 
he — her lover — but some interloper from the outside world, 
that had possessed the castle of his soul ; she could not under- 
stand, and it made her shudder, as if in peril. 

That one moment when her heart lay against his was very 
sweet, (though she was ashamed of it,) and would be always 
precious to remember, but it should never come again. She 
had passed through her crisis now, and would be stronger in 
the future. If her mother recovered, she would try to shut 
out every other love, and live henceforth for her. She prayed 
for strength — the kind of prayer which never falls unheard, 
when the poor human heart lets go itself and all human aid, 
and clings, child-like, to the Father-heart. The strength 
and peace came after a long time ; and when the clock marked 
four in the morning, her regular breathing told Mrs. Brown 
that her weary young friend was asleep. She softly tucked a 
pillow under the tired head, and wrapped a shawl about her 
shoulders. At six there came a gentle tap at the door ; not 
the partition door leading into the sitting-room, but the one 
which opened on the front porch. ’Twas Bob Dean, whom 
Mrs. Brown admitted. 

“ How is she?” 

“ She has slept nearly all night; but, oh! she looks so 
white and awful.” 


“THAT OTHER DR. CONWAY.” 179 

“And she** he asked, looking down at Mary, who still 
slept, with one hand under her cheek, like a child. 

“ Poor thing ! ** said Mrs. Brown. 

Bob’s gray eyes filled with tears as he looked at the pale, 
gentle face, with such new lines of grief interwoven with its 
beauty. 

“Yes; poor child,” he responded. 

“ She is in trouble.” 

“ Indeed, she is.” 

“ More trouble than one,” said Mrs. Brown, looking at him. 

“Yes.” 

The word was curious from the different tones blended in 
its one syllable. 

“You have not had your breakfast yet, of course,” said 
Mrs. Brown, speaking positively, though uncertain in her mind 
what vagary her household machinery might have taken in her 
absence. 

“ No. I only came to inquire. I am going directly back.” 

“Yes? I wish you would please go to the kitchen and tell 
Aunt Cindy to send breakfast down ; all but the coffee — I 
don’t want her to be bothered about anything that we can 
help,” nodding towards Mary — “I mean breakfast for Mary 
and Laura and me ; I will send Doctor home for his. I don’t 
reckon Jenine is up yet.” 

“Yes, madam. I will attend to it ; you are very kind and 
thoughtful.” He felt as if he must thank her himself. 

“ Tell Jennie to come down after breakfast.” 

“I will. Good-morning.” 

“ He ’d beat the Doctor taking care of her, if only things 
should turn out right. Humph ! he was looking at her the 
whole time he was talking to me. Poor thing ! she ’ll need 
somebody to take care of her.” 


i8o 


BOB DEAN. 


Reaching home, Bob made his way to the kitchen, and was 
smilingly received by the reigning genius, for the servants all 
liked him. He delivered his message, then asked Aunt Cindy 
for two fresh eggs and the egg-beater. 

“ De law! what de man want? Yaas, sir; I ’s got plenty 
aigs. Dar ’s they in de baskit on de shef. Hyar ’s de beater; 
want a bowl ? ’ ’ . 

He brought a flask of old brandy from his room, and had 
soon concocted an egg-nog, perfect in quality of material as 
well as manufacture. 

“Carry that to Miss Mary, Aunt Cindy; and tell her to 
take one half of it for her own good, and then to finish it for 
my sake. * ’ 

“La sakes ! I will. Pore chile ! ’spects she needs it, too.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. 



HE days and weeks move on. 


X For a long while Mrs. Lipscomb’s condition was 
critical indeed; not only on account of the ever-present 
danger of a fresh rupture of the artery, but in consequence 
of the extreme depletion from loss of blood. Kind friends 
waited, with bated breath, at her bedside by day and by night. 
Mary felt that the new adversity had brought its own blessing 
in the precious gems of friendship, unknown or unrecognized 
before. 

Mrs. Brown, with an unprecedented disregard of her 
cherished household affairs, had constituted herself nurse-in- 


TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. l8l 

chief, and only went home at intervals to overhaul Aunt Cindy 
and Mat. One was at a loss to understand the power of en- 
durance knit into her buxom little body. Moreover, Mary 
thought she had never known such tender solicitude as this 
same little body bestowed on her; indeed, Mrs. Brown’s man- 
ner was as if she had, at some time, done her an irreparable 
injury, but intended to make all amends in her power. Jennie, 
too, came and went, doing what she could. And Bob Dean 
was simply invaluable — tireless, as nurse and adviser in general. 
All the others, the Doctor not excepted, yielded to his peculiar 
influence over matters — an instinctive administrative capacity, 
by which he always knew what should be done, at the right 
time, and by whom. But Bob himself, with an unconscious- 
ness that was as charming as it was genuine, was ignorant of 
the fact that he was acting a notable part, and almost enjoyed 
the work he was doing, both for the very work’s sake and 
because it was done for Mary. He would have wholly enjoyed 
it if he could have taken all her pain and care on himself. 
But it wrung his heart to see her grow thin and pale ; to see 
the beautiful eyes dark-ringed and weary ; the gladsome smile 
supplanted by sorrow-lines. And there were some lines which 
he did not understand — which seemed to belong not to her 
grief and anxiety about her mother ; nor were they themselves 
tokens of weariness, but were added to these, and seemed to 
borrow their pain from a yet deeper and more bitter fountain. 
He could not understand, but he prayed that her strength of 
body and of heart might be equal to the demands. And he 
did all he could to relieve and sustain her. 

The weeks passed on and her mother grew better ; then the 
daughter looked a little less pale and weary, and was cheerful 
again. But the shadow was on her pure face still, like the 
echo of a sorrow, unnoticed, save by those who loved her. 

16 


182 


BOB DEAN. 


Her mother saw, and understood it ; Bob saw, and could not 
understand. And now the rolling weeks have nearly num- 
bered out the days of the year. 

********** 

Seven o’clock, Christmas morning ! And such a morning 
it was! We all remember what a perfect day was the 25th 
of December, 1877. The sun, just rising, touches with a 
golden glory the landscape, far and wide. The crisp, clear 
air, taken in with the spirit of the day, is simply intoxicating. 
There is a new spring-wagon standing in front of the livery- 
stable, and two mettled grays, hitched to it, are stamping out 
their impatience. It is Bob Dean who now comes up, and 
carefully placing his folded shawl on the seat, springs in and 
takes the reins from the boy in waiting. 

“ Have they been well fed, Simon ? I want to put them 
through this morning.” 

“ Yes, sah ! dey ’s had ’bundance to eat, and dey ’s willin’ 
to travel, too. Boss, he don’t send dem fellers wid ev’rybody 
what wants hosses. Dey takes a driver to hold ’em, you bet.” 

“ Well, I don’t want to hold them, so it does not matter 
whether I am a driver or not. Let them go ! ” and Bob gave 
the signal to start, somewhat hastily, for he saw approaching 
a group of his new friends, whose curiosity as to his destination 
and purpose, and whose probable commissions, would need 
more time to satisfy than he cared to spare this morning. He 
raises his hat to them, as the grays bound down the hard road, 
rejoicing in their oats and liberty. 

He is going to Rockdale to-day, to meet and bring back 
his mother to spend the holidays with himself and friends. 
If the lady were his sweetheart, he could hardly be more eager 
for the meeting. I have not, with my pen, been able to tell 
the cross which this separation from his mother was to him. 


TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. 183 

Every day his heart had hungered for her presence. Most 
men, ere they reach the age of twenty-six, have enshrined 
some other woman in the inner temple of their hearts ; but it 
was Bob’s weakness, if weakness it be, never to have learned 
to do without his mother. The knowledge that, Providence 
permitting, he would soon have her with him again, had 
seemed to increase his eagerness during the last week. He 
had borne his new trouble only by pushing it off till she should 
come to share it with him. 

At first he had thought to conquer his love for Mary Lips- 
comb, believing that as it had been born in an hour, it might 
perish by violence. The passing days had showed him the 
fallacy of this hope ; his passion took new root every time he 
saw her, and developed strength in her absence, until now 
he could not even wish, honestly , to conquer it ; he thought 
he did, but still he knew that to love her was very sweet, if it 
was dashed with the bitter. Then he determined to bury 
himself in his work, and live it down, crowding oiit thoughts of 
her with daily labor, full-measured, pressed down, and running 
over. But her dire need of help in her mother’s illness had 
appealed to him in a way he could not resist ; his love had 
gladly seized the excuse to be in her presence and extend the 
precious comfort which was “ twice blessed ” in the flow and 
reflux. And now, the prospect was that thoughts of her would 
crowd out the duties. Plad he entertained hope of winning 
her, then these thoughts had been helps, but when they came 
laden with despair, it needed all his manhood to meet them 
and work on. Bob had no hope of winning her ; or, if any, 
it was an impalpable, unrecognized hope, for he was satisfied 
she loved Dr. Conway; and that gentleman had so much 
advantage of him, in prior acquaintance, in worldly prospect, 
and in personal appearance, that to enter the lists against him 


1 84 


BOB DEAN. 


would be sheer folly. Besides, as he had once said, it was 
not honorable to try to win another man’s sweetheart, and so 
was not to be thought of. Had he known exactly how affairs 
were standing between Mary and the Doctor, he might have 
taken heart ; but he did not know, so he had come to the 
fore-mentioned conclusion, that he must go away. This he 
could not do just now, for he had contracted to teach the 
school at C for four months, two of which were yet unex- 

pired. And what reason could he assign to the school-com- 
mittee for breaking a contract ? That he had fallen in love, 
forsooth, and must run away ! Nay, verily ; there must be 
some other way. Well, his mother is coming, and he will see 
what she says ; women know how to reconcile so many things 
which puzzle men. So we see that self-interest was mingled 
with affection, and the two sent his heart-throbs to keep time 
with the flying hoofs, as he and the grays sped onward to meet 
the iron horse. The miles were not few, but they were quickly 
traversed, and he found, on reaching the station, that he was 
before the train. He fastened his team, and went to look at 
the town. It was several months after the fire that consumed 
the original rude buildings, and Rockdale was now beginning 
to boast herself of a brick block or two, which, in their new 
splendor, frowned down upon the wooden structures over the 
way. All was stir and bustle to-day. Merry-makers abroad 
lent their boisterous mirth to the din of commerce. Country 
wagons coming in, laden with cotton, their drivers, eager for 
“our share of eggnog,” met by cotton-buyers eager for 
“ our share of trade.” Wagons going out, laden with lumber 
and freight, whose drivers had had their “share,” and were 
making loud testimony thereof. All are glad and gay, or want 
to be. And now the shrill whistle announces the incoming train, 
and everybody rushes to the depot. A little lady, dressed in 


TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. 185 

black, appears on the carriage-step, and is lifted down bodily 
by a big man in gray, who holds her as if he would never let 
her go. Ah ! Bob Dean knows there is one woman in the 
world who loves him, and he proudly leads her off to where 
the wagon is waiting, and, taking her check, comes for her 
trunk. 

“ Wonder if that is his wife?” said a bystander. 

Bob hears, and laughs his old cheery laugh, so wondrously 
silent of late. 

“ Well, little mother, you can't know how glad I am to have 
you,” said Bob, proudly, as he took his place beside her in 
the wagon. 

“Oh, my boy! my boy!” She cannot do the subject 
justice, so she does not try, but folds both of her little black- 
gloved hands over his knee, and feasts the hungry mother-eyes 
on his wholesome, beloved face. They are very alike, when 
one comes to think of it — both blonde, with chestnut hair, 
sunny and curling, and the same deep gray eyes and pleasant 
mouth. She does not look like the mother of this big man, 
for she is. only forty-five, and appears much younger. But 
“little mother” is very pale and thin, which Bob now ob- 
serves, and fears she has been working too hard. 

“ Not more than usual,” she answers. “ But, Bob, you have 
been working too much — or worrying — which, my boy?” 

And now they are beginning in earnest to talk over all 
“ those things ” about which we already know. 

We will leave them to get dinner at the “ Brooks ” house, 
and come home together, well assured that by the time they 

reach C , she will have come into possession of all he can 

tell of his surrounding circumstances, besides having several 
shrewd opinions of her own. 

Mrs. Brown’s house is full to-day. Jennie is entertaining 
16* 


BOB DEAN. 


1 86 

company in the parlor, and Mr. Brown dispensing liberal 
eggnog to a party of his friends in the dining-room. But 
the family sitting-room is unoccupied ; and there Mrs. Brown 
cordially receives Bob and his mother, and proposes to show 
the lady to her room immediately, that she may refresh her- 
self after her journey. 

Jennie has kindly given up her room, which was adjoining 
Bob’s, to their guest, that she might be continually near him 
during their brief reunion. A door between, long locked, 
is now thrown open, and Mrs. Brown proposes to leave 
them, with the request to “come down as soon as you feel 
like it, and I will give you some dinner. Ours is over.” 

“ Thanks ! But we dined in Rockdale ; early, it ’s true, but 
heartily. Would you have anything more, mother?” 

“Oh, no; nothing; I thank you, madam.” 

“ There is plenty left, if you want it ; we will not have a 
hot supper to-night, as dinner was so late, but we ’ll have a 
snack and some coffee by-and-by. I suppose you will want to 
go to the Christmas Tree to-night ? Please call for anything 
either of you want, Mr. Dean,” and the kind-hearted woman 
shut the door and went down stairs, envying “little mother” 
her devoted son, and almost wishing Jennie might have him 
instead of Dr. Conway. “ Dr. Conway talks about his folks 
as if they were somebodies, but I know Mr. Dean’s mother 
must be a nice woman.” Mrs. Brown would not acknowledge 
even to herself that she had married beneath her own grade 
in society; but still she was determined that Jetinie should 
look up and not down. 

“ Need not go out, son. I shall not dress, but only get rid 
of the dust. Please brush my back;” and she handed him 
the whisk-broom and turned her back. He placed his broad 
palm on her slender waist, and carefully did as he was bidden ; 


TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. 


18/ 


then sitting down in Jennie’s rocking-chair, drew Mrs. Dean 
down on his knee — a habit they had of sitting when they had 
anything particular to talk about. She fondled his curls, and 
caressed his broad forehead with one little, thin hand, leaving 
the other on his shoulder ; and they talked on. 

“There is one piece of news I have brought you, Bob, 
which I have been loth to tell, because the subject has always 
been painful to us both. Yet most men at your time of life 
would hail it as the best of news.” 

Getting down from his knee, she went to her trunk and 
produced a formidably big envelope, which she handed to him, 
and took a seat near, while he possessed himself of its contents. 
He read slowly, first a little sheet, then a long one with legal 
seals ; he folded them carefully and replaced in the wrapper, 
scarcely breathing for astonishment. He held the package 
between thumb and finger, and looked at the fireplace, but 
spoke not a word ; his pale face and compressed lips gave no 
token of any good tidings in the document he held so gingerly. 

Mrs. Dean spoke softly: “Reparation, Bob. Late, but just. 
It seems her conscience would not let her keep it any longer.” 

“Is her health failing? Is she afraid of death, that she 
does this before she goes to meet my poor father, whom her 
cruel hand pushed into an untimely grave?” 

“I do not know. The letter is addressed, as you see, 
to the lawyer, and simply states, that some years ago the pro- 
ceeds arising from the sale of a valuable ranche in Western 
Texas came into her possession, but that later events have 
revealed the fact that the money more rightly belonged to 
another heir of Judge Dean’s estate — a half-brother of hers. 
And that herein he would find proper papers making the 
transfer to said heir, and a reference to the court records ; 
she hoped he would be able to arrange the business satisfac- 


1 88 


BOB DEAN. 


torily, and find said heir ; otherwise, the property would revert 
to herself again as natural heir. That is all I know, except 
that one Mr. Owens, of the law-firm of Owens & Cotter, called 
on me, to tell me that it is all correct, and that there is now, 
subject to your order, the sum of ten thousand dollars in the 
National Bank at Austin. And it makes you, comparatively 
speaking, a rich man, Bob, at last.” 

“It is yours, mother, by right; and shall be.” 

“It makes no difference whose it is, my dear ; of course the 
good will be the same.” 

“Yet I am not glad to have it from her now, remembering 
that father died of the grief and shame she brought upon him. 
She cannot make amends.” 

They sit silent awhile, then Bob says, gently: 

“At any rate, mother, you need not work any more,” and 
he comes behind her, and drawing her face back, kisses it. 

“And you can get off from the school, and go away and 
rest until spring lectures open,” she answers, softly. 

Bob lets go her head and walks up and down the room, but 
says nothing. He is wondering if he really wants to go away, 
and thinking how proud he would be of this fortune, if he could 
but bestow it on a certain queenly woman he knows and loves. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

BOB DEAN’S MOTHER. 

T HE December sun is near his setting, when Bob brings 
his mother down to the parlor, to introduce her to his 
friends assembled there. 


BOB DEAN’S MOTHER. 189 

They are not gathered here solely to do her honor, but in 
part, because Mrs. Brown’s parlor is a pleasant place always ; 
nevertheless, Bob Dean’s mother is a person of much interest 
to many who have learned to know him ; and several people 
besides the family are here this afternoon. 

Jennie gracefully comes forward and kisses her like an old 
friend, which mark of favor Bob appreciates. 

Dr. Conway offers his hand in response to the introduction, 
while a genuine cordiality glows on his handsome face. There 
is something genial about the little woman, which draws all 
hearts to her in friendship. 

Mrs. Dean’s gray eyes measure the Doctor carefully, to see 
what manner of man this can be, whom a young lady could 
prefer to her Bob. 

“ The most of him is outside,” is her summing up. “ If 
she loves him best, I don’t care, for she can’t see far, and 
could not appreciate my boy.” 

Clarence Vaughn and Houston Ludwig are next presented. 
She is glad they are here, because she loves boys as a class. 

And now Mrs. Brown introduces a lady who is a stranger 
to us also. To written communications, she signs “Mrs. G. 
Bernice Delgado;” but the lady’s appearance is not as pre- 
tentious as is her name. She is a widow, no longer young, 
though she displays a simplicity and vivacity which most 
prudent young ladies would prefer to conceal or to temper. 
She has a little daughter with her, and is making a “ dead 
set” at Dr. Conway, much to that gentleman’s annoyance, 
just now. 

Mr. Brown gives Mrs. Dean a chair, and assumes the task 
of entertaining her. 

“Your son tells me you’ve been a good while in Texas, 
ma’am — greatest kentry in the world, it is.” 


BOB DEAN. 


190 

“ Yes, sir. I have been here quite a number of years, and 
have found it a good country.” 

“You did n’t see the stormy times we did — that was ’bout 
all over by ’49. B’lieve Mr. Dean said that was the year you 
come.” 

“Yes. But there was at least a wind-cloud in ’50. You 
remember, there was some apprehension of Texas withdrawing 
from the Union, and assuming her nationality, on account of 
the Santa Fe trouble — in case of which, many feared war would 
ensue.” 

“ Oh, yes; that was a little blow — all wind, though — never 
’mounted to a groat — Texas stood up for her rights, as she 
always does, and got her debt paid off by it. Great kentry, 
tell you that.” 

Mr. Brown had had his share of eggnog, too; and when 
under the benign influence of such, it was his habit to brag 
about his country, his wife, or his daughter ; or to abuse tax- 
paying and mill-hands. - 

“ How long you been a widoiv, ma’am ? ” 

“My husband died in ’58.” 

“You don’t say so ! Now I tell you what — just — ” 

“ Come, papa; you are selfish in monopolizing Mrs. Dean. 
We all want to talk to her, too,” interposed Jennie. 

She saw that Bob was uneasy while they talked of personal 
matters ; for some of these things about which Mr. Brown was 
so free, were too sacred for even mother and son to pass free 
converse upon. Besides, Jennie saw that her father’s potations 
had been liberal, and she feared for him. She could not bear 
he should appear at disadvantage, for she very tenderly loved 
this rough old father. But before conversation was resumed, 
after her interruption, there was a new arrival. Who, of all 
others, should it be, but Mary Lipscomb. 


BOB DEAN’S MOTHER. 


I 9 I 

“Why, Mary! I’m so glad to see you, and so glad your 
mother is well enough to let you come,” Jennie cried, as she 
embraced her. 

“Mrs. Vaughn came in this afternoon to sit with mother, 
and she insisted that I needed fresh air and must walk — ” 

“ So you do, child. You are as pale as can be with watch- 
ing,” put in Mrs. Brown. 

“And so I came around to see you all, and Mrs. Dean;” 
and she went up to that lady without waiting for an intro- 
duction. 

It was something to see Bob’s face as those two people 
kissed each other. Jennie saw it. In her acuteness she read 
what he hoped for in this visit of his mother’s — hopes he was 
not himself aware of ; and Jennie seconded those hopes from 
the bottom of her heart ; for if he got his wish, so would she 
get hers about somebody else. 

Mrs. Dean scrutinized Mary as closely as she had the Doc- 
tor ; and Bob could see that, as far as appearance counted, 
even her fastidious taste was satisfied. 

“Your son has been very good to us, madam, during my 
mother’s illness ; and since he will not let me thank him, I 
have come to tell you about it.” 

She is wholly unconscious of how lovely she looks as she 
says this, or of any reasons one could find for being good to 
her, save those of pure philanthropy. Dr. Conway looks at 
her from his miserable corner, where the fair widow holds him 
unwilling captive. The little Bernice Delgado has presump- 
tuously placed herself on his knee, and plays with his seal 
ring. Mrs. G. Bernice Delgado is flattered that the good 
Doctor should fondle her poor little orphan girl ; while the 
good Doctor heartily wishes he dare choke said orphan, for 
he hates children above all things, and this child above all 


192 


BOB DEAN. 


children. He has seen a great deal of Mary Lipscomb during 
the last weeks, and never before has he seen her so lovable. 
The wearisome duties of the sick-room, where, hour after hour, 
and day after day, her mother’s life has hung by a thread, as 
it were ; the many trials of strength and judgment, where her 
patience and self-control have never flagged — these things 
have developed in his mind a respect for her sex, which 
hitherto has been foreign to him. -He has seen the graceful 
limbs grow weary, the soft eyes dark-circled with continued 
watching, but he has never found her fretful, has never heard 
her complain. His love for her has grown stronger daily, 
while he feels she is gradually slipping away from him. Dur- 
ing those tedious days and nights he has never found himself 
alone with her in the watch, except at such times as the patient 
required all of their united attention. When his hand acci- 
dentally touched hers, and this has happened several times in 
their mutual offices of physician and nurse, she would quickly 
remove hers, but he looked in vain for that rare color to 
suffuse her cheeks and brow, as once it would have done. If 
he assayed sentiment, she met it with a practical common 
sense, which made his soft speeches sound ridiculous. Yet he 
could find no just cause to reproach her, for she was always 
polite, gentle, and kind. It made him half beside himself to 
see her meet Bob Dean with a cordiality she did not give to 
him. There was a friendliness in their intercourse which told 
of mutual trust, and the ease of a brother and sister. Bob’s 
quiet humor could coax the dimples back to their old place in 
the pale cheeks, and many hours of quiet, sensible converse 
had they in the evenings and half nights that Bob gave to his 
friend’s help. The lamp, burning low, would be left in Mrs. 
Lipscomb’s room, and at short intervals Mary would slip 
softly in to watch the sleeper; but then she would return and 


BOB DEAN’S MOTHER. 


193 


sit in the front room and talk with Bob, while Laura leaned 
against the corner of the chimney and watched them with her 
^wide eyes, or took sly naps, and let her head thump, at which 
Mary and Bob would laugh. And the Doctor lay on the 
lounge in the back of the room, and pretended to be asleep, 
while he listened to their talk, if might be he should hear some- 
thing which would be food for the jealousy which was racking 
him. But, no ; had their conversation been published, the 
world would have only thought that they had a great deal of 
pleasant and profitable chat, full of noble ideas and novel, 
singularly free from what is popularly called sentiment, con- 
sidering the age and sex of the parties. The Doctor further- 
more observed that Mary always chose to sit up that part of 
every night, when Bob qr some other friend did, leaving some 
neighbor to share his watch. Why he should volunteer to 
nurse this patient, even a part of the time, he was not able to 
tell — he did not usually add the labor of nurse to the- skill of 
physician. He only knew he could not content himself long 
out of that house when Bob Dean was in it. Ah! the per- 
versity of human hearts. This same cordial, sisterly confidence 
which Dr. Conway begrudged, Bob read as a most unpropitious 
sign for himself. Had she been coy or timid of him, he could 
have hoped ; but if his years had numbered sixty instead of 
twenty-six, she could not have been less embarrassed in his 
presence. The secret of the whole matter was, that as re- 
garded Bob Dean, she thought not of herself at all, while she 
was afraid of Dr. Conway — or her own heart — and being on 
her guard, was not her natural self. Her strength had not 
failed her again, and she had borne her part bravely ; until 
now the Doctor really began to wonder if that one moment 
of her weakness, when he had held her head on his bosom, 
17 N 


194 


BOB DEAN. 


had not been a dream : he began to question if he had not 
even been mistaken in believing she loved him. 

The Doctor’s mind, from wandering on these matters, came 
back to the conversation in the room. Mrs. G. Bernice Del- 
gado is still talking — what about, he can’t pretend to say. 
He does not try to listen, but only smiles, and ejaculates at 
intervals, “Yes,” or “Please tell me all about it,” etc., satis- 
fied she will go on. But Mary is saying something now, and 
he listens to that. 

“Mrs. Dean, I suppose all the family here will wish to go 
to the Christmas Tree to-night. Mr. Dean will have to go, 
as he is appointed Dispenser. I thought, perhaps, as you are 
a stranger, and have been travelling, you would prefer to be 
quiet. So I came around to ask you home with me, to spend 
the evening until the exercise is over ; they can come by for 
you if you like — it is right on the way. Mother says she can’t 
wait till to-morrow to see you,” and Mary smiled at the 
thought. 

She stood still and waited for her answer. Mrs. Dean 
glanced around to ascertain the sentiment of the friends in 
whose charge she felt herself. 

“ Oh, no ! Mrs. Dean, we want you to go to the Tree. It 
will be beautiful. Mr. Dean and / decorated it yesterday ! ” 
exclaimed Jennie, while Bob smiled at the vanity of her words. 

“ Let her suit herself, daughter. If she feels like being 
quiet, she will enjoy the company of Mrs. Lipscomb and 
Mary. She has been used to Christmas Trees, and will not 
think ours extra.” 

Mrs. Brown evidently was willing. 

“I believe I would do it, mother,” said Bob, thinking 
what a nice time they would have getting acquainted. 

“ Then, thank you, Miss Mary; if you will wait until I get 


BOB DEAN’S MOTHER. I95 

my wraps, I will accept your kind invitation.” So saying 
she passed out of the room. 

“ That is too bad ! I counted on ’scortin’ her out to-night,” 
grumbled Houston. 

“ Humph ! I was a-goin’ to do that myself, my man,” said 
Mr. Brown. 

“ Miss Mary, were it not that I have the promise of the 
best of company to-night, I might angle for an invitation to 
do likewise,” said Bob, laughing and looking at Jennie. 

“Your company will excuse you, Mr. Dean, if you want 
off.” 

Jennie looked so saucy that Dr. Conway, off in the corner, 
gnashed his teeth in desperation. 

“Oh, not at all, Miss Jennie. I am only deploring that 
all the good things come at once ; and a surfeit of sweets 
always clogs my digestion. 

* How happy could I be with either, 

Were ’t other dear charmer away.’” 

The merriment of his manner took away the suspicion of 
vanity, and they all laughed. 

“ Perhaps, Mr. Dean, the knowledge that all the 4 sweets ’ 
are not for your delectation, may have a salutary effect on 
your enjoyment of what is left you,” said Mary, sweeping him 
a stately courtesy. 

“Thank you for the hint, Miss. I don’t care, though; I 
don’t believe you and mother are going to have such a very 
nice time, anyway.” 

“ Perhaps not — sour grapes ! ” 

Mrs. Dean came in now, ready to walk ; and Mrs. Brown 
at the same time, from the dining-room, saying refreshments 
were on the table, and all must come in and partake. 


196 


BOB DEAN. 


“No, Mrs. Brown; really I must not leave mother any 
longer now. I left Laura getting tea ready at home, and 
please excuse us. I have nearly all of Christmas dinner left ; 
so I can give Mrs. Dean plenty, even if she is very hungry. 
No, Mr. Dean ; you shall not go with us ; stay and get your 
supper; it is not yet dark. Good-bye.” 

They go out together, and Bob feels happier than lie has 
done for a month. 

Dr. Conway hails the call to supper with such a thrill of 
delight as the captive may feel, when his gyves are stricken 
off, ere he has tried his new freedom. He is sure Mrs. G. 
Bernice Delgado will want to eat, for it must need abundant 
nourishment, and often, to enable her to talk forever. He 
declines refreshment, for fear of being next her at the table, 
and goes up-stairs to his pipe, while Jennie laughs at his woe- 
begone face. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“we’ve met again, it seems.” 



HE Union Church, brilliantly lighted and decorated, is 


X filled with a gay and elegant throng, now in a confused 
state of hilarity. The late bedecked Tree is denuded of its 
splendor, and the merry people are flocking out, the fortunate 
ones triumphant, and the neglected few indifferent. It is not 
the custom here to confine the favors of Kriss Kringle to the 
Sunday-schools or the juveniles ; but all classes and ages par- 
ticipate, every one having the privilege of using the Tree as a 
medium of conferring Christmas gifts. The only tax imposed 
is, that the public shall have a good view of each article before 


“we’ve met again, it seems.” 197 

it reaches the hand of the happy (?) recipient. Many a burst 
of merriment goes up as the business proceeds, over the curious, 
and often inappropriate, gifts. 

Bob Dean, with his genial spirits, has been the centre of 
interest to-night ; and Jennie Brown has shone in his reflected 
glory, as participant with him in the honor of dispensing the 
favors. 

Dr. Conway has occupied a back seat, literally and figura- 
tively; and he does not like it very well. His handsome 
face is gloomy and lowering as he pushes out into the darkness. 
He avoids his party, and calls, on his way home, at the post- 
office for the evening mail. There is a letter for him, which 
he puts in his pocket. At home, the house is silent and almost 
dark. Mr. Brown calls to him from the sitting-room : 

“ Come in, Doctor, and set with me. The folks hain’t got 
back yit ; they stopped at Widder Lipscomb’s for Mrs. Dean, 
and I come on to start the fire. They Ml be home terreckly, 
dessay.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Brown; I’ve a letter to read, and will 
go up to my room, I believe.’” 

“Well, here’s a note for you; somebody is a-wantin’ you 
to-night.” 

It is an urgent call to come as soon as possible to a sick 
man. But the Doctor is in no mood to take any unusual 
trouble to-night; so he makes himself comfortable with his 
pipe, and proceeds to read his letter. It proves to be in 
reference to the speculation in the Kansas cattle-drive, to 
which he once made reference in our presence. While he 
reads, his harassed face breaks into a gleam of exultation. 

“ Well, that is some good luck for me at last. I thought 
my good fortunes were about to desert me, but perhaps this 
is a harbinger of a turn for the better. Let me see — Gordon 
17* 




BOB DEAN. 


and I will each clear about two thousand dollars, that pull. 
By Jove ! I believe I ’ll risk my luck in love, too, while ‘ For- 
tune is on her giving hand.’ I can’t stand this uncertainty 
much longer. It will wear me out — make me haggard, gray ; 
spoil my temper and my looks.” 

He went to the mirror and finished his speech to his image 
reflected therein: 

“ I must have my girl, or something desperate will result. 
I believe she is only holding off, because she sees my uncer- 
tainty. I just know she does love me, when I look facts 
squarely in the face — she can’t help it. But, bless her sweet 
heart, she is prudent and shrewd, and won’t commit herself, 
while I seem to be wavering as I have been of late. I believe 
I ’ll decide the matter this very night. I know it will make a 
blow-up here, when it comes out. Mrs. Brown considers that 
I have tacitly spoken for Jennie, since the intimation I made 
when I was crowded in that Agnes Vinson matter. She 
understands that I want to marry Jennie, and don’t want any 
scandal on her account ; and it is on that consideration that 
she is to help me keep it down. Really, she has assumed quite 
a motherly care over my unworthy self. By my soul ! I don’t 
care for all of them, if Mary will only marry me. I can brave 
it all for her sake ; and I will, backed by my reputation and 
this two thousand dollars.” 

He gets a sheet of delicate, perfumed paper, selects a fine- 
pointed pen, and seats himself to the task of writing a 
“straight-out” proposal; he runs his fingers through his 
tawny curls to strengthen his resolution, and in a dramatic 
tone, exclaims: 

“ ‘ Now, by Apollo ! be a man for once 
Be for once strong, or be forever weak ! ’ ” 


“we’ve met again, it seems.” 199 

“Miss Mary Lipscomb: — My Darling Love! lean en- 
dure this suspense no longer. For a long time — how long a 
time — I have hoped to win your love, and sometimes fondly 
believed the precious boon was mine; but, alas! as I would 
dream of putting out my eager arms to seize the blessing, you 
would float out of my reach on impalpable wings of coldness — 
or was it only coyness, Sweet ? The past weeks, since that one 
precious moment, so ecstatic, so brief, when I idly dreamed 
the treasure next my heart could be held there forever — these 
past, lonely weeks, in which you have kept yourself so far from 
me, have taught me how idle would be the thought that life 
could have any joy without you. Why do you treat me so, 
sweet angel woman ? You forbade me to speak of love to you 
again. I have obeyed, hoping to propitiate the timid spirit 
which I had frightened with my ardor. But I may write it ; 
may I not, dear love? You have put me off with your cold- 
ness, and I have borne it as best I could ; my impatience will 
no longer brook restraint. You already know how well I love 
you ; or if you do not, my pen is not able to tell you ; but 
know this — the happiness of my life is bound up in your noble 
self. And not only happiness, but all there is of life to me — 
all the possibilities of good in my manhood. With you, I feel 
I can go onward and upward, to attain any goal of honor and 
purity toward which we may set our united standard ; without 
you, there is nothing ahead in this world — far less than nothing 
in the next. I have been loth to lay open to you some of the 
pages of my life, because I feared your pure heart might recoil 
from an escutcheon less white than your own. I have never 
before, in so many words, asked you to marry me, because 
I am poor in the ‘ filthy lucre,’ and shrank from involving 
your dear life in poverty ; but fortune has smiled on me at 
last — just a little gleam ; and my eager heart seizes the avant 
courier as an omen of other good things in store for — for us, 
may I say ? among which is the yielding of your dear self to 
my proud keeping. I will lay bare before your judgment all 
my past, my every secret thought, be it good or ill. I lay 
down my heart at your feet ; I would leave my life in your 
hands. Will you, Mary, accept the offering upon Love’s 
altar ? Remove that dreadful ban, and give me leave to talk 


200 


BOB DEAN. 


to you about it ; say when, dear one. And ah ! may the 
sweet spirit of Love brood in your heart, and win it over to 
mercy. Yours, as never any other body’s, 

Duval Conway.” 

He read the epistle over, folded, sealed, and addressed ; 
then he held it at arm’s length and said : 

“If it is not the whole truth, what there is is true, if ever 
I wrote or spoke the truth ; and, by Jupiter ! I find myself 
gloriously in earnest about it, too. If she accepts me, I will 
begin life anew; if she refuses, the dogs may take what is 
left of me ; or, I will pursue pleasure, which is the next thing 
to it.” 

And now he goes to answer his professional call, the weight- 
ier matter of his love-letter being executed. The said matter 
he deposited in the post-office box, as he rode -through town — 
dropped it in, feeling somewhat as if he had cast a lot for good 
or evil fate. When he has left all the houses of the village in 
the wake and is entering the Post Oaks, he hears a horse’s 
hoofs behind him. He glances uneasily over his shoulder — 
the Doctor has grown nervous of late — and sees Houston Lud- 
wig, who accosts him as he rides alongside and checks his 
speed. 

“How air you, Doc? Somebody sick Chrismus night? 
B’lieve ef I had my way, I ’d as leave take some other time.” 

“And what brings you out at this time of night? I suppose 
you have no patient to attend.” 

“I’ll stand in need of somebody’s patience if I can’t git 
this booger of a pony to travel ’thout so much quirtin’. Oh, 
we boys — some of us — air goin’ to have a lark out here in the 
country to-night. But you mus’ n’t tell on me, Doctor. I 
don’t keer ’bout Mr. Dean knowin’ I’m one of ’em.” 

“Doesn’t he allow you to do as you please during the 


201 


'‘we’ve met again, it seems.” 

holidays? When I was your size I ’d have shown him a thing 
or two.” 

“ No, you would n’t, neither — leastways, he*’d a showed you 
mor ’n you could him ; you don’t know Mr. Dean. Not that 
I ’m skeered of him, though. He never said nothin’ to us 
boys ’bout what we was going to do durin’ holiday, only 
that he hoped we would n’t forget that we were all going to 
be gentlemen. Still, I kinder think he wouldn’t like what 
we’re up to to-night. ’T any rate, ’t would be as well for 
you not to say anything ’bout seein’ me.” 

There was a suspicion of threat in the boy’s piping voice. 

‘ ‘Oh, I shall not 4 peach.’ I believe in boys having their 
fun,” said the Doctor. 

He knew too much of the world to wish to incur the ill-will 
of the boys of any place he desired to live in. 

They had left the wooded road and were crossing a strip 
" of prairie, when they heard the sound of a horse galloping 
rapidly up behind them. Houston slouched his hat over his 
face, humped his shoulders, and thrust out his elbows, till, in 
the uncertain light o.f the just rising moon, he might have 
passed for fifty instead of fifteen. The rider comes up and 
passes them; but, when about thirty yards beyond, stops, 
wheels his horse, and waits for them to approach. Dr. Conway 
feels the blood curdle about his heart, for the man is Buck 
McQuillan. 

“ Good-evenin’, Dr. Conway ! We ’ve met again, it seems ; 
jest as I said we would. Air you ready for me? Who is that 
you have got with you ? a body-guard ? You see, I don’t carry 
none ; but I ’m ready for you, all the same.” 

“What will you have, Mr. McQuillan? This gentleman is 
Houston Ludwig, who happened to overtake me on my way 
to see a sick patient, who may be dying now for need of me. 
That Is my business— have you any?” 


202 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Yes; I have — ’bundance ; and I ’m a-tryin’ now, the best 
of my ’bility, to discharge it. My business now is to git even 
with you, confounded sneak as you air ! Where ’s your arms? 
I know you ’ve got ’em. Out with your pistol, if you ’ve got 
any man’s grit in yer gizzard, and we ’ll have a fair fight, with 
Ludwfg, here, fur a witness ! ’ ’ 

“I do not carry arms, nor have I any, now. Goodness! 
man, have you not a spark of sense or prudence left ? Let me 
pass, and do you go home and go to bed, like any other 
sensible person.” 

“ Sense ! Prudence ! Go to bed ! I say ! When this was 
to have been my wedding-night, and my poor gal not spoke 
to me, not seen me, sence — you know when. And she jest 
a-layin’ on her bed and a-moanin’ her life out; and you talk 
to me about being sensible. I ’ve give you fair warnin’, Dr. 
Conway; if you hain’t arms, it ain’t my fault — here goes ! ” 

A flash of fire, a quick, cruel report in the crisp night-air, 
and the Doctor falls heavily from his horse, on the side away 
from his assailant — falls too quickly, it would seem, for the 
deadly missile to have reached him. Buck waited a moment 
to see if he would get up. The faithful sorrel had leaped to 
one side at the pistol-flash, but he now stood still beside his 
prostrate master. 

“Hope I made a hole clean through his chicken heart,” 
said Buck, as he galloped off into the woods. 

“ Help ! Murder ! ” shouted Houston. 

“ Hush, boy! Don’t raise an alarm. I am not hurt much. 
I only fell off to deceive him and get him to leave me. Come ; 
help me a little.” 

“But, Doctor, the man ought to be caught.” 

“I don’t want him caught— would n’t have him caught for 
anything, on no account.” 


“we’ve met again, it seems.” 


203 


“ I don’t understand ; he — ” 

“ It is this way, then. He has been annoying me for some 
time ; but, now that he thinks he has killed me, he will be 
out of the country before morning, and 1 shall be rid of him.” 

Houston argued the question no further, but he thought it 
a peculiar view to take of being shot at. 

“Where are you hit, Doctor; anywheres?” 

“The ball struck my side, but I think it only grazed the 
flesh. It has almost stopped bleeding now. Here ; roll my 
handkerchief into a wad — that will stop it. Now, help me to 
get on my horse, and let us move away from here before some 
one comes.” 

They remounted and retraced their steps towards town. 
Dr. Conway thought it prudent to go home and dress his 
wound; and as for Houston, he had had enough “lark” for 
one night. 

“ My patient must get on without me, to-night ; no matter; 
I guess it is nothing serious, anyway.” 

“He or she must ’a improved awful fast, then. You said 
a minute ago they was a-dyin’ for want of you. Well, what 
is it all about, Doctor?” 

“ Ludwig, if you will promise to hold your tongue about it, 
I ’ll tell you the whole affair. You are almost a man now, 
and, perhaps — well, that fellow, McQuillan, was engaged to 
marry Agnes Vinson — you know the girl ; and — ” 

“ Hold on, Doctor ! Do I understand you as holding of 
me bound to keep secret what you are a-going to tell me ? If 
so, I ’d ruther you wouldn’t tell it to me, because something 
might turn up so it would not be easy for me to keep mum. 
If you tell me, you must let me use my own judgment about 
it. I won’t be bound by no promise.” 

The Doctor was silent a moment ; then he continued : 


204 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Well, as you say; I must let you exercise your own judg- 
ment, but I hope I can trust you not to give publicity to this 
affair. When you are made acquainted with all the circum- 
stances, you will perceive that I am comparatively blameless, 
though I acknowledge I was somewhat wrong in the beginning. 
You see, the girl’s grandmother was sick, and I was out there 
a good deal ; just to pass the time, I used to carry on with her 
some, because I saw it pleased her — any fellow would have done 
the same. I never thought of her being so simple as to expect 
anything to come of it. But she did ; and on the strength of it, 
refused to marry Buck McQuillan ; and the fool holds me re- 
sponsible for that. I took no notice of his threats, because I did 
not wish any noise made over it, on the girl’s own account ; it 
would be calculated to injure her, in her station of life. Of 
course it would n’t affect me ; but she is a woman, if she is a 
fool, and that is why I want this whole thing kept quiet. Now, 
if you will say nothing to contradict it, I will cause it to 
appear, that by accident I exploded a pistol in my pocket, and 
made this scratch in my side, and no one need be any wiser.” 

Dr. Conway’s face did not look as honest as his words 
sounded, but Houston could not tell that in the moonlight. 
He felt, however, that the man’s statements were warped, and 
was more than ever disinclined to be a partner with him in 
concealing the strange adventures of that Christmas night. 
He answered, dryly: 

“ Well, Doctor, I sha’n’t falsify anything you choose to tell 
about it, unless I feel ’bleeged to, but you must n’t call on me 
to tell it your way. I ain’t very good myself, but I ’ve never 
made a practice of tellin’ fibs.” 

The Doctor bit his lips in anger at the boy’s insinuation ; 
but he had stooped to deceit, and he could not complain if 
this stripling vaunted his honesty over him. 


“we’ve met again, it seems.” 


205 


They had now reached Mrs. Brown’s. Houston assisted 
the Doctor to put away his horse, and, at his request, went up- 
stairs with him. Just as they entered the upper hall, Bob 
Dean opened his door and looked out. He was wakeful, and 
hearing them enter the barnyard gate, went to the window in 
time to see the two ride to the stable. In the moonlight he 
recognized Houston, and immediately came to the conclusion * 
that some of his family were ill, and he in quest of medical 
aid. But when Bob appeared on the scene, Houston quickly 
vanished down the stairway, hoping he had not been recognized 
in the dim light of the hall. Bob, seeing his purpose to con- 
ceal his identity, said nothing to the Doctor about him, but 
made a friendly remark on the subject of the onerous nature 
of- the professional labor, which robbed the night of its allotted 
rest-time ; he furthermore mentioned his own restlessness, and 
was about to return to his room, when the Doctor addressed 
him : 

“ Please come into my room a little while, Dean.” 

Lighting a lamp, he seated Bob and himself, and proceeded 
to give a hasty statement of the night’s doings, according to 
his view, and closed by asking Bob to take an instrument and 
probe the wound, to ascertain certainly the extent of damage 
he had so carelessly inflicted on himself. They found it slight; 
and after doing all necessary for the Doctor’s comfort, Bob 
left him to sleep as best he could, and sought his own pillow 
again. But he expressed his opinion before he went to sleep. 

“ I don’t believe a word of his doing it himself. The ball 
did not enter in the right way for that. There is some mystery 
about it; and if I don’t get to the bottom of it, lam mistaken." 

18 


206 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A LETTER RECEIVED. 

D R. CONWAY deemed it prudent to keep his bed next 
morning ; both that his wound might begin to heal 
without interruption, and that his “ dear five hundred friends” 
might have time to wonder and be done wondering. He had 
managed, he thought, to give a pretty lucid account of the 
accident to Bob Dean. But it was late at night, and he might 
naturally be expected to be a trifle excited. He much preferred 
that some one else should give the statement to the world. 
So he stayed in bed. 

It was to a surprised and questioning party, at the breakfast- 
table, next morning, that Bob gave the Doctor’s version of 
his accident. He could see, at a glance, that Mrs. Brown did 
not more than half-way credit it. Jennie lost her appetite and 
color over the account, and Mr. Brown thought the “ Doctor 
was uncommon keerless, to be a-shootin’ of hisself.” Mrs. 
Dean expressed unmitigated regret, and volunteered as nurse 
pro tem. 

“ He will not need much nursing, as he is in no danger 
whatever; but perhaps he will be glad of company. Miss 
Jennie, I shall look to you to see he does not get lonely.” 

“ I do not believe I have, enlisted into your corps of nurses, 
Mr. Surgeon ! Perhaps I shall find some more diverting 
occupation during the holidays, than humoring a would-be 
invalid.” 

She had rallied her spirits, and was anxious not to show any 
solicitude. 


A LETTER RECEIVED. 


207 


“ Mrs. Brown, do you rebel, too ? It will never do to leave 
him to mother’s tender mercies; she would soon spoil him.” 

“ I guess Dr. Conway will not suffer for attention in this 
house, though he deserves to, for his carelessness.” 

On his way to Sabbath-school, Bob called at Mrs. Lips- 
comb’s to tell them the news, and inquire about the invalid’s 
health. He wanted to be the first to tell of the Doctor’s 
accident at that house ; not to see its effect on Mary — for he 
fain would have spared himself the grief of seeing her pained 
— but that no one else should see it, and find out more than 
she would like to have known. He had fallen into the habit 
of dropping in every morning, on his way to school — he called 
it on his way, but it was at least four blocks in the other 
direction. 

Since he had tied the severed artery for her, Mrs. Lipscomb 
fancied no one else understood her case so well, or could 
minister to her comfort as could Bob. The Doctor had con- 
tinued to lose ground in her favor, until now she could 
hardly tolerate him ; and, after the fashion of sick folk, she 
made no great effort to conceal the fact. Dr. Conway would 
laugh and humor the fancy, but he did not like it any too 
well, for all that. Many pleasant hours had she and Mary 
spent with Bob beside the sick-bed, where, for her sake, all 
unpleasant topics were banished, and the conversation allowed 
to run in pleasant channels only. Bob’s social qualities had 
been allowed free play, and had even developed new powers 
under the genial influence; so he had been led to say to him- 
self, upon leaving them after one of these occasions, that he 
was grateful for this much happiness in Mary’s presence, even 
if fate should shut him out for the future. 

Mary met him at the door with a cheerful 11 Good-morning, 
Mr. Dean ! ’ ’ and her eyes and voice said he was welcome, as 


208 


BOB DEAN. 


well as did the outstretched hand. He took possession of 
this — he never missed an opportunity to touch it, but refrained 
from any tender demonstrations therewith, for fear of forfeiting 
the privilege. 

“I need not ask how your mother is this morning, since 
you are looking better than I have seen you for a long time.” 

“ Yes; your mother charmed her out of herself last night, 
and she rested splendidly, and feels quite strong this morning. 
She is only waiting for somebody’s authority to get up and 
sit in her rocking-chair.” 

“ Whose will she think sufficient to warrant so desperate a 
movement?” Bob asked, as he exchanged greetings with 
. Mrs. Lipscomb. 

“ The Doctor’s, I suppose ; or yours,” she added, laughing, 
as her mother made a wry face at suggestion of Dr. Conway 
holding any authority over her. 

“ I am not waiting for anybody’s leave, but only till I should 
have my breakfast, and 'Mary had time to help me dress,” 
said Mrs. Lipscomb. 

After a little pause, during which Bob’s face took on a 
shade of gravity, he said: “It is well so, unless I could 
give the permission ; Dr. Conway is not able to come here 
this morning. He got himself shot last night.” 

“ Got shot ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Lipscomb, looking anxiously 
at Mary, whom Bob was already watching for the effects of 
his sudden announcement. 

She felt the blood leave her face, and then rush painfully 
back, but she could not tell whether it was because of fear for 
Dr. Conway, or because she knew Bob was watching her for 
the effects of his words. 

He hastened to explain and assure them of the Doctor’s 
safety, giving, as nearly as he could, the circumstances as 


A LETTER RECEIVED. 


209 


related by himself. Now here appeared a great contrast in 
the reception of this information, by these two families who 
had heard it. Mrs. Lipscomb and Mary seemed both to be- 
lieve implicitly the victim’s statement, while the Browns had, 
like himself, doubted. Was it because the Lipscombs loved 
him better, or that the Browns knew him best ? 

As he was about to leave them, Clarence Vaughn came in, 
bringing a letter, which he gave to Mary, saying, “ Mr. Videll 
called me as I was coming by the post-office, and asked me 
to step in, and hand this to you.” 

She glanced at the address, then closed her hand over it, 
saying, “ Thank you,” while a red current mantled her whole 
face and neck. She knew Dr. Conway’s writing, and could 
suspect the subject on which the missive would be indited. 

“Mr. Dean, are you going to Sabbath-school this morning?” 
asked Clarence. 

“I am, and shall be glad of your company. It is time we 
were off, too. Good day, ladies ! Mrs. Lipscomb, I hope 
you will feel no worse for sitting up.” 

The fair sunshine of yesterday had given way to sombre 
clouds, and there blew a gusty wind from the south-west ; but 
the congregation at church was good, the services of the day 
edifying, and they dispersed with kind feeling between man 
and his neighbor — and doubtless a degree of gratitude for the 
Sabbath day. 

Bob had to answer many questions about the Doctor’s wel- 
fare, for news of his misfortune had gotten abroad. 

When the congregation was nearly out, Bob touched Hous- 
ton Ludwig upon the shoulder, as he was about to pass. 

“ You had a late ride last night, my boy ? ” 

No answer but a startled look, smothered into a wink and 
grimace. 

18* 


O 


210 


BOB DEAN. 


“I want to see you this afternoon, Houston. Can’t you 
come to my room for half an hour? ” 

Houston saw now that Bob had some cle^ to the night’s 
proceedings, and, as he had stated to Dr. Conway, it was not 
his policy to tell fibs, or make use of subterfuges to get him- 
self out of “scrapes.” He was frequently caught in such, but 
usually came off lightly, by making a bold front out. He 
now gave Bob a knowing look and answered with his peculiar 
drawl : 

“Well, Mr. Dean, I ’d leetle ruther not.” 

“But I would rather you should — come, my boy, are we 
not friends ? What do you fear from me ? ’ ’ 

“ That ’s so,” responded the lad. “ I reckon I had as well 
make a clean breast, fust as last ; so all right. What time shall 
I come?” 

“Well, say two o’clock.” 

“ All right. But, see here, Mr. Dean ; I ’d ruther Dr. Con- 
way should n’t know I ’d been a-talkin’ to you. It ’s his 
concern — not mine. True, I didn’t promise nothin’; but 
then — ” 

“I understand, Houston. It is not necessary he should 
know. Still, it matters little what he thinks. I feel sure you 
have done nothing you need be afraid or ashamed to tell me .” 

“Well, that’s partly so, and partly not so; but I’ll tell 
you all about it this evenin’. I am glad I did n’t promise him 
anything, anyhow.” 

“So am I glad. I should not like him to hold any bond 
upon my conscience,” and contempt for the man appeared in 
Bob’s voice, more than he had any idea of. 

On reaching home, he went immediately in to see the 
Doctor. He found him restless, a little feverish, and ill at 
ease. 


A LETTER RECEIVED. 


211 


“ How are we by this time ? ” said Bob, laying his cool hand 
on the sick man’s brow. 

“ Not doing well — confound it all ! — nor likely to be, with 
my brain in a rack. That I should be laid up in bed just now 
is dog’s luck ! ” 

“ Well, my dear sir, I have never seen the time that was 
just the time to be sick. Yet, we must all submit at some time 
to be sick, and to die. But a sick man is not a choice subject 
for a homily on patience ; so I will desist. Is there anything 
I can do for you, Doctor ? I mean besides dress your wound 
and minister to the man physical?” 

“ Besides that ?” 

“ You spoke of a mind in a rack; thought, perhaps, I could 
serve you by attending to any little matter; anything I can 
do, I will, with pleasure.” 

Bob had opened the way for confidence, if the Doctor was 
so inclined ; and the latter understood him, and wondered if 
he had found out anything. But he concluded to risk matters 
' to take their course ; or, at least, not to precipitate any de- 
velopments by premature confessions. He did not count on 
Bob’s influence on the mind of Houston — in fact, if he had 
thought of it at all he would surely have expected the boy to 
confide in any one else, sooner, judging by his eagerness the 
night before to conceal his identity; and, likewise, arguing 
from his knowledge of boys in general, and his own boyhood 
in particular, he thought the teacher about the last person who 
would receive this boy’s confidence. He only half knew Bob 
Dean — knew nothing of the power of his master-will, when he 
chose to use it ; knew nothing of his skill, by simple honesty 
and kindness, in drawing hearts to himself, whether he willed 
it or not. While a sneer curled his thin lip, Dr. Conway 
answered : 


212 


BOB DEAN. 


“ No one else can attend to my personal affairs, and I don’t 
feel myself in the extremity yet to need a confessor .” 

“Beg pardon, sir, for the suggestion,” returned Bob, while 
his wounded pride flamed in color on his strong face. 

He finished attending to the man’s personal needs as ten- 
derly as if he had not been insulted by him — too generous to 
take advantage of his condition to revenge the indignity ; but 
a compression on the wide mouth, and a gleam in the gray 
eyes, warned Dr. Conway to bridle his taunting speech in the 
future. When he finished his work, he simply remarked, “ I 
think that will do,” and left him, without responding to the 
Doctor’s “ Thank you ! ” 

Houston Ludwig was punctual to appointment ; he knocked 
at Bob’s door just as that gentleman was beginning to wonder 
if he would fail to come. But, evidently, he did not relish the 
proposed interview, and glanced uneasily at the Doctor’s shut 
door. 

He made, as he had said he would, “a clean breast,” 
and felt, in a measure, relieved, as if he had transferred the 
responsibility of Dr. Conway’s secret to the conscience of 
another. Nor did Bob feel that he was doing anything dis- 
honorable in receiving it. He knew there was some mystery 
about the night’s transactions, and he had all reason to believe 
Houston was implicated in it. He knew, furthermore, that 
the Doctor’s principles would not stand in the way of throw- 
ing all unpleasant consequences on the boy’s head, should 
such arise ; and he, with the ignorance of youth, would not 
be able to meet them. Houston was the eldest son of very 
poor parents ; the father an imbecile, the mother an anxious, 
over- worked woman, who had earnestly begged Mr. Dean to 
look after her boy, already too inclined to seek idle company. 

“Well, Houston,” said Bob, their conference finished, “I 


A LETTER RECEIVED. 


213 


am glad you did not get to carry out your plans last night, 
for they might have led you into regrets deeper than that of 
being the only witness to the incidents you have confided to 
me. I was sure, all the while, that Dr. Conway’s statement 
was manufactured for the occasion ; you were right in not 
promising him your aid in making it public. Still, I believe 
it best you should tell no one else, unless it becomes neces- 
sary. I hope we can do something to set right these crooked 
things. I may need your help further — can I depend on 
you ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes, sir-ra*, Mr. Dean, you can. Anything I can do I ’ll 
be glad to — I ’m already glad you worked the truth outen me, 
for I could n’t sleep a wink last night for thinking about it. 
Now I don’t feel so responsible like. Still, I ruther the Doc- 
tor should n’t know I ’d been here.” 

“That is all safe — he shall not know, Houston.” 

Bob went out to see if the coast was clear, and then dis- 
missed his uncomfortable young friend, who made his escape 
without meeting any one. 

Bob consulted his fire awhile about the facts which had 
come to his knowledge; then tapping at his mother’s door, 
went in, and seating himself on the side of the bed in which 
she was resting, they had a long, confidential chat. He told 
her all he knew, for she was to be his confederate in unravel- 
ling the tangled skein of secresy and guilt. We will not fore- 
stall their plans, laid this hour, but let them work them out. 

Bob went down to Mr. Brown’s room, and inquired for 
him. 

“ He has gone out, Mr. Dean ; is there anything I can do 
for you? ” inquired Mrs. Brown, putting on her slippers, and 
smoothing her hair with the palm of her hand. She too had 
been resting, after the fatigue of church-going; she always 


214 


BOB DEAN. 


complained that “ going to church tired her worse than 
work.” 

“ Did Mr. Brown ride ? ” asked Bob. 

“ Oh, no ; he only went down town a little while ago. He ’ll 
be back soon, I guess.” 

“ That ’s all I want to know. I wish to take a little ride 
this afternoon, and would like to get Button, if you are not 
going to use him.” 

“ Certainly, you can have him. Going alone ? ” she asked, 
with curiosity. 

“ Yes, ma’am. You know I don’t often take pleasure rides 
on Sunday ; but this one is not altogether for pleasure. I am 
much obliged. I will get him from the stable;” and Bob 
smiled and went out. 

“I’ll be bound it is for somebody’s pleasure. I don’t 
believe he ever thinks about his own. I do wonder what he 
is up to. I must go look after Mrs. Dean. She ’ll be lone- 
some if he goes out. And the Doctor, too — I declare, I wish 
I did know the straight of some things. Never mind.” 


CHAPTER XX 


A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED, 


FTER Bob Dean and Clarence Vaughn left for church, 



Mary stole away to her own little room to read that 


letter. 


Standing by the window, she held it unopened, and looked 
at the superscription, much as one in a dream ; her face white 


A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED. 21 5 

and her eyes dilated with expectancy, knowing not what to 
hope, or what to fear in its hidden lines. 

Reader, have you never held a letter thus, feeling that 

“ Even now the steps of fate 
Are at the threshold ” ? 

Was it in lore, or anger? Did it hold tones of tenderness 
that would set the thrilled chords of her being in answering 
throes, which would be bitter work to still ? Or would it be 
cold, like his manner of late, disclaiming the fond pleas 
of the past? She almost hoped the latter; ’t would be easier 
to bear — and then she did not hope it, for 't would be sweet 
to hear, once more, that he loved her — sweet to carry the 
tender chimes through her lonely life. 

A saucy robin perched himself on the rose arbor outside 
the window, and perked his head on one side as he looked at 
her. Everything appeared as usual in the little back yard, 
just as if she were not holding in her hand, unread, her first 
love letter — and her last, it would be, too. Now she breaks 
the seal, and scans it over — not reads ; she must wait for 
more time for that ; her house work is not done yet. 

It is in love — ah ! ah ! such love ! 

She puts it from her, into the little table drawer, and goes out 
to the kitchen where Laura is — people do eat and live on in an 
everyday fashion, even while such letters lie with burning 
words in little table drawers. 

The girl has finished her cleaning, and is awaiting orders 
for dinner. Mary had taken time and pains to teach the 
mute to read and write, and was able, by means of the little 
slate she had provided for her, to converse easily with her. 
Taking the slate she wrote : 

(l It is Christmas, and Sabbath, Laura, and your sister is 


2l6 


BOB DEAN. 


sick at home ; as my mother feels much better to-day, I can 
spare you and I will get dinner. You may spend the day at 
home, but come back before night.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; I shall be glad to, if you are sure you 
don’t need me.” She was about to hand Mary the slate, 
then seemed to have another thought, for she added, “ Is 
there anything the matter, Miss Mary? ” and she looked up 
into the intense, dark eyes of her mistress. 

“ Nothing that you can help, my little friend. Good-bye.” 

Laura went out without further remark, but she had formed 
a pretty clear idea that Dr. Conway had something to do 
with Miss Mary’s looks. She had seen her receive the letter, 
and, with her quick perception, had long ago observed that 
anything pertaining to the Doctor was apt to make Mary 
serious. Poor child ! she drew a sigh, and came to the sage 
conclusion that there was little else but trouble in this world 
of ours. 

Mary next went to her mother’s room, and proffered to 
dress her. Mrs. Lipscomb looked fondly at her a moment, 
then answered : 

“ I believe I will wait till after my nap, darling. Bring me 
my Bible to read, and then do you go and rest in your room, 
before you have to get dinner ready.” 

“Yes, mother.” 

She understood what thoughts had prompted the suggestion ; 
and while the love-motive was very precious, she was not 
ready yet to talk to her about it. 

Shut in again in her own room, she draws the letter from its 
hiding-place ; but, with a sudden impulse, lays her head 
down on the little table to think. She wants to take one 
more look at things as they are, before this new message 
changes their coloring with its passionate breath. Presently 


A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED. 2\J 


the thought grows to be a prayer ; then, much as a man long 
inebriated resolves to reform, and, knowing his weakness, 
would push temptation beyond His reach, she steels her heart 
against its tenderness, and reads as if it had been addressed 
to another, and she had no part in it. Reads, that she may 
be able to answer it. And now, strange ! strange ! viewed in 
this outside light, as having no connection with herself, it 
begins to seem a very weak letter, and (she has to confess it) 
as if its author had studied the effect, and had striven to write 
a model love-letter. Without a doubt, that “ other one” had 
penned this letter, and it would not be very hard to answer 
him. 

Without giving her heart time to stir rebellious protests, she 
writes the answer : Thanks him for the honor he has conferred 
on her ; sorely regrets that she must give him pain — hers, in 
inflicting it, can scarce be less than his; prays he will for- 
give, if her conduct in the past has given him just reason to 
expect a different answer; but begs to assure him that coquetry 
has no place in her character, and hopes his charity will sug- 
gest a kinder reason for her seeming inconsistency. Lest he 
might not understand this answer to be final, she would state 
that her mother was altogether unwilling they should ever 
occupy a nearer relation than at present. She stopped to 
consider how she should answer the passage wherein he placed 
his future for weal or woe in her keeping. 

“ That is simple nonsense ; and he knows it, and does not 
mean what he says. I will not mention it.” 

The pen lingers over the beginning of the next paragraph, 
making no progress. 

“ No ; I can’t say I hope him much happiness in the future; 
nor can I ask him to be my friend. Oh, my love ! my love ! 
you are gone from me forever ! ’ ’ 


2l8 


BOB DEAN. 


Such a sinking at her heart, such a tightening about her 
throat, but no tears — she is too strong for that this morning. 
She simply signs, 

“ With due respect, 

Mary Lipscomb.” 

Put in the envelope, she raises- it to her lips to seal, when, 
like one who shrinks from closing the coffin-lid over the be- 
loved dead, she replaces it unsealed in the drawer, feeling less 
alone with it thus. She cannot go to her mother yet, think- . 
ing, while she chides herself for the thought, that the demand 
at the filial altar has been a heavy one. Yet, yet, she knows, 
in the secret chamber of her heart, that not alone because of 
her mother had she told him nay; that there was another, a 
subtler, reason, that she recognized but could not name, 
prompting her to take her heart away from one who coveted 
but would not cherish it. Still, it was none the less a widowed 
heart she had left to her ; for, had she not loved and lost ? 
and was now alone, all alone, forever alone. 

She went to the kitchen and made the dinner ready before 
she returned to Mrs. Lipscomb. 

“ Mother, shall I bring your dinner to you in bed, or shall 
I dress you first?” 

“ Is the dinner ready now? ” 

“Yes, ma’am, nearly. But it can wait. Please let me 
dress you first, and you will sit in your chair by the table, 
and we will eat together.” 

“Very well.” 

This toilet was a glad and tender work for Mary to-day. 
She thought, while she brushed the dear gray hair, of the 
times she had feared it would be put out of her sight forever. 
She was thankful she had been able to make a sacrifice — that 
no wilfulness of hers had added a shade to its silver hue. 


A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED. 219 

The happy service completed, she set their dinner on a 
round table before the fire. 

“ Here are some nice birds Houston Ludwig brought you 
yesterday. ’ ’ 

“They look nice ! I wonder he thought of bringing them, 
though. It seems like everybody is kind to me.” 

“ I don’t think the idea originated with him ; as he was 
coming in from shooting he met Mr. Dean, who asked him if 
he did n’t think half-a-dozen partridges, nicely dressed, would 
be a clever Christmas gift to you. Houston assured me that, 
while the birds were his, the credit of the gift belonged to 
Mr. Dean.” 

“ It is just like him. He never forgets anything that it 
will do good to remember.” 

“I thought he looked troubled this morning, mother. I 
was surprised, as his mother had just come, and he antici- 
pated so much pleasure from her visit.” 

“It was nothing about her that troubled him, you may be 
sure. I think it might have been in connection with Dr. 
Conway’s accident.” 

Mary changed color slightly at mention of the name, but 
spoke quietly : 

“That was certainly a narrow escape. Strange that it 
should have so happened. I do not see why he should carry 
a pistol in his pocket.” 

“For protection, during his night rides, I presume.” 

“ But it seems he is his own worst enemy.” 

“ Nor is he dangerous to himself alone ; than which was 
never a truer truth spoken.” 

Mary looked at her mother, surprised at her earnestness. 
Now that the subject was open, better get over the dread 
barrier, and tell her that the die had been cast. 


220 


BOB DEAN. 


“The letter I got this morning was from him, mother. He 
asked me to marry him, and I have answered him no, and 
now the matter is settled/’ 

No quiver in the sweet voice, only a husky tone ; and she 
rises to clear the table and take the remainder of the dinner 
out. Mrs. Lipscomb does not speak until she is done, and 
comes in without her great apron, and her dress tidied for the 
afternoon. 

“ Come here, my precious child.” 

She draws her down on the rug in front of her, and putting 
a hand on each side of her face, kisses her fair brow between 
the true, deep eyes, saying : 

“God will bless you, dutiful, noble daughter, that you are. 
In the future you will not regret that you listened to the 
warning of your mother, to whom long life and knowledge 
of human hearts has given a keener sight than to these trust- 
ing eyes. He will not do to trust . God has surely made a 
better man for my pretty child.” 

“ There will never be any other, better nor worse. I shall 
be yours only now, always.” . 

“We shall see — it is natural you should feel so now.” 

A rattle at the door-latch announced that Laura had re- 
turned, and made her presence known thus before entering. 

She came to the fire shivering, though the day was not 
cold. Her fingers worked nervously at the fringe of her 
shawl and her face was full of suppressed excitement. She 
handed Mary her slate. 

“ You are back in good time, Laura. How is your sister ? ” 

“ She is bad, bad ! ” 

“ Then you need not have come back. Do they need help 
in nursing her ? ’ ’ 

“ No, ma’am. Her body is not sick; it is her mind.” 


A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED. 


221 


“ What troubles her mind, Laura? ” 

“ Ah ! Miss Mary, they say I must not tell ! but I shall 
tell you, for are not you my friend ? my best friend ! Dr. 
Conway has broken her heart.” 

“ Dr. Conway ! Broken her heart ! What do you mean? ” 

“It is true. She was to have married Buck McQuillan 
last night, but Dr. Conway came and stole her heart, and 
then he left her. I saw how it would be, long time ago, and 
begged her not to trust him ; but she said he was handsome 
and good, and loved her true, if she was ignorant and poor ; 
and he had promised to marry her and would make her a fine 
lady. But when grandma died, he denied it, and said she 
was a fool for thinking such a thing, and then he and Buck 
quarrelled. But she would not marry Buck, and so last night 
Buck met him and just shot him dead, and then run off and 
left his poor old father and mother and sisters. And now 
Aggie is nearly crazy — says she is the cause of the Doctor’s 
death, and been the ruin of Buck, who was always so good to 
her. Oh, we are so miserable, Miss Mary ! there is nothing 
but trouble in the world.” 

She had rapidly scribbled down her story, with her slate 
resting on her knee, as she crouched on the floor before the 
fire. 

Mary read the words as they were written. Her first thought 
was to comfort the distressed child. She wrote : 

“Dr. Conway is not dead. He is only slightly wounded, 
and will soon get well, and Buck can come back. Besides, 
no one knows he did it, for the Doctor says he shot himself.” 

The mute raised her wild eyes to Mary’s face a moment in 
wonder, then, as the truth gradually dawned upon her per- 
turbed mind, she wrote : 

“ That is to keep somebody he wants to make like him, from 
19 * 


222 


BOB DEAN. 


knowing why Euck shot him, and how he treated poor Aggie. 
Oh, he is bad ! so bad ! I hate him !” 

“ Sh ! don’t say that. Yes, he is bad. I did not know 
how bad before.” Mary’s face showed her indignation. Laura 
looked curiously at her, as she continued. “ Go to the 
kitchen and get your dinner, then come to me — I want you 
to go an errand.” 

Mary explained to her mother what had been communi- 
cated on the little slate, but they passed no comments on the 
turpitude of Dr. Conway’s conduct. 

Soon she went to her room, and took out the letter she 
had written him. She remembered how she had felt about 
sealing it, and realized that the opening of it was like raising, 
too late, the kindly coffin-lid over the beloved dead, whose 
features, a little ago, only cold and white, but still dear, are 
now but horrible corruption, altogether unlike the loved and 
lost ! 

Oh ! could it be true, he was only a common scoundrel, a 
heartless knave, a very liar ! Her lover — her Duval Conway, 
whom she ‘had deemed peerless among his kind. Truly, her 
pride had been humbled. She despised herself, that she had 
not despised him. 

She unfolded the dainty sheet and added a postscript : 

“ 3 p - M - 

“Sir: — I have just learned, through a member of the 
wronged family, the true circumstances of your accident, and 
the motive cause. Out of respect to the injured girl I will 
not divulge it, nor will my informant tell it to any one 
else, but I wish you to know that it altogether changes the 
respect and sympathy which I have expressed in the body of 
my letter. Permit me to say, that I can conceive of no ex- 
tenuating circumstances which could warrant such a course 


-A LETTER READ AND ANSWERED. 223 

of duplicity as that in which you have enveloped yourself. 
You will acknowledge I have a right to subscribe myself, 

“Indignantly, M. L.” 

She had just sealed the missive, when Laura presented her- 
self again. 

“I wish you to take this letter to Mrs. Brown’s, and give 
it to Dr. Conway himself — I mean, do not give it- to any- 
one else, if you can help it.” 

The girl stood a moment and fingered the letter, then seiz- 
ing the slate, wrote : 

“ Miss Mary, has n’t he been trying to get you to love him, 
too? Please don’t do it. He will make you sorry, too, like 
Aggie.” 

Mary struggled with her sensitiveness, which shrank from 
revealing her heart affairs to her little servant, but she 
believed that, under the pain she was bearing, the child was 
old enough in sorrow to appreciate and keep sacred her confi- 
dence. So she answered her question. 

“ He wrote to ask me to marry him ; but I have told him 
no.” 

“ I am so glad ! Now his wicked heart will hurt like Aggie’s 
does — if he has any,” she added. 

Mary wondered, too, what manner of heart it was that he 
carried in that broad bosom ; but she did believe he had 
loved her once. ^ 

“Laura, you will remember that this is my affair, and not 
to be told to your sister, or any one else.” 

The child seized her hand, and, kissing it, pressed it to her 
heart. 

Her mistress understood her, and knew she would be faith- 
ful. 


224 


BOB DEAN. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF IT. 

B OB DEAN’S ride this Sabbath afternoon takes him in the 
same direction, but not to the same place, he had hap- 
pened upon more than a month ago, when he first came into 
possession of the clew to Dr. Conway’s labyrinthian affairs; 
and this clew Bob is now tracing, trying to “ get to the 
bottom of it,” as he had expressed himself — not from idle 
curiosity, nor in officiousness ; but if perhaps he may be able 
to “straighten some crooked ways.” 

He was fond of walking, and in the course of his numerous 
rambles had made himself acquainted with all the roads, and 

most of the people, within three miles of C . So he was 

at no loss to find his destination to-day. 

He dismounted near a little “box house,” which boasted 
the dimension of front-room, shed-room, and porch. The 
establishment was innocent of yard fence, and altogether 
wore a comfortless, deserted look. That it was inhabited 
was attested by the remnant of last week’s wash, which, not 
being needed for present wear, was left hanging on the haw- 
bushes, in lieu of better receptacle. A fat pig was investi- 
gating a puddle of slop under the “shed-room” window, 
which room, by that sign, we know to be the kitchen ; and a 
few contented hens contemplated, with satisfaction, their new 
home, which, let us explain, consisted of a row of boxes, 
fastened between adjacent trees, whose friendly branches fur- 
nished bed-rooms also. 

As Bob entered the porch, he was met by an elderly man 
of— let us say sixty years. Though stooping half double, and 


GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF IT. 225 

with thin white hair, his brown face was shining and free from 
wrinkles, while a peculiar, sharp physiognomy was suggestive 
of a terrapin. His faded blue eyes looked anxiously at the 
visitor, and suspiciously past him down the road. He removed 
a short black pipe from his mouth as he spoke : 

“Good-evenin’, Mr. Dean. Come in an’ hev a cheer. 
Maw, heer ’s Mr. Dean. I do’ know as you ’s seed her afore ; 
that’s rfty ole ’oman, Mr. Dean.” 

Bob shook hands with him and the “ole ’oman,” who, 
with a handkerchief tied over her ears, was sitting pn the 
hearth, convenient to the embers with which she frequently 
replenished the fire in her pipe, by dipping it into the ashes, 
and pressing the coal thus fished up with the forefinger of her 
wrinkled hand, emitting a series of explosive puffs from her 
blackened lips. 

“ Well, Mrs. McQuillan, your fire feels pleasant after riding. 
It is a little raw this afternoon.” 

“ Yes, sir ; it is. We gwine to hev some mo’ failin’ weather 
agin, ’fore long, in my uppinion.” 

“ Yesterday was a beautiful day. I do not think I ever saw 
a finer.” 

“ Mighty putty ; but I ’ve heerd say it was onlucky to see 
Chrismus day so warm an’ shiny,” and she shook her head 
dolefully. 

“‘A green Yule makes a fat churchyard,’ ” quoted Bob, to 
justify her foreboding. 

“Well, ’t ain’t to say green any now, but it hes been on- 
common warm. Yistiddy was ’most too warm fur fire to feel 
good,” she said, by way of keeping up the talk. 

“Yes; quite too warm for fire,” assented Bob, for the 
same reason. 

“ Well, my fire hain’t been out fur forty years, ’cept when 

P 


226 


BOB DEAN. 


we bin on the move,” and she indulged in a fresh coal of the 
pedigreed (?) article. 

“ Well, Mr. McQuillan, have your young folks left you all 
alone to-day ? ’ ’ 

“ Seems so. The gyells went over to Miss Vinson’s this 
morning, an’ they hain’t come back yit.” 

“And where is Buck?” 

The old couple exchanged quick, significant glances, and, 
without looking at Bob, the man answered : 

“ He ’s rid off some’rs. I don’t know where.” 

Bob heartily pitied the poor parents, and scarcely, knew how 
to approach the subject which he had come to discuss. 

After a pause, Mr. McQuillan asked : 

“Any news ’bout town to-day? I didn’t git out ter 
meetin’, my rheumatiz is so bad these times.” 

“Well, yes; a little — unless you have heard it; in which 
case I suppose you could not call it news. Dr. Conway was 
shot last night.” 

“ Shot ! You don’t say so ! Well, well,” and the old man 
turned uneasily in his chair, while the woman was seized with 
a fit of coughing, which compelled her to avert her face quite 
away from Bob. But she recovered and asked : 

“ Did you say he was dead?" 

“ Oh, no; nor likely to die; he is but slightly hurt.” 

“ Thank the Lord fur that ! ” she cried ; and the poor old 
face said that the thanksgiving was from her troubled heart. 

“Amen ! We should always thank the Lord when a wicked 
man is spared from death,” responded Bob. 

“ Weeked you may say, sir ; fur that ’ar man is orful weeked ; 
he is. May God forgive him.” 

Bob yearned to say something to comfort the poor crea- 
ture, who was trembling in her excitement and apprehen- 


GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF IT. 22J 

sion, but feared to ask the question which her husband now 
put : 

“ You did n’t hear how it happened, did you, Mr. Dean ? — 
who done the deed?” 

“ Dr. Conway says he shot hitnself with a pistol in his 
pocket, which accidentally exploded.” 

Bob spoke slowly, carefully measuring his words, and noting 
their effect. 

The mother caught her breath quickly. 

“ Shot hisself! You don’t say so ! Well, I never ! ” 

She could not conceal how great was the relief this version 
of the affair gave to her strained feelings. Buck’s father spoke. 

“Now, come to think of it, that’s ruther more ’n likely; 
fur the Doctor, he ’s a kinder keerless man, which way you 
take him; he don’t take no keer of hisself. Fur me, I don’t 
see what anybody wants to be a-kerryin’ them thar pistols fur, 
nohow. They ’s dangerous.” 

“Yes; they do harm,” responded Bob, still at a loss how 
to bring forward the truth. 

He saw that they were more than willing the Doctor’s ver- 
sion should remain current, and would, of their own accord, 
betray nothing which would open the way for mutual confi- 
dence ; he concluded to waste no more time in manoeuvring, 
but to plunge into the open truth. 

The old people were expending their wonderment in fancy- 
ing all the attending circumstances of the accident with a flimsy 
disguise of ignorance. They had drawn their chairs together, 
and were stooping over the fire to conceal the consciousness 
of guilt which mingled with the trouble in their aged faces. 
Bob arose, and, approaching, laid a kindly hand on the shoulder 
of each, saying, in his grave, earnest tone : 

“Good friends, that is the way Dr. Conway said it happened. 


228 


BOB DEAN. 


But I know the true facts as well as you do, and have come 
out here to talk to you about it — ” 

They tried to interrupt him with protestations of ignorance, 
but he raised his hand for silence, and continued : 

“ Now, I am your friend, and Buck' s friend, and I want to 
see it all made right. You can see Dr. Conway does not want 
to accriminate him — and he had better not ; for, while the 
crime is Buck’s, the disgrace is his. Buck has gone off from 
home, which was well ; but you know where he is, and can 
send for him. Now, this is what I propose : If Buck will give 
me an obligation to let this matter drop, and never any more 
try to harm his enemy, I will be his security that nothing shall 
be done against him. Now, what do you say, friends?” 

The mother had broken down into tears ere he was done 
speaking, while the father cleared his throat, and wiped his 
hard hand across his eyes, patting his foot, and swaying to and 
fro in a determined effort not to give way. But when his 
wife laid her poor, claw-like hand on his knee, muttering, 
“ Let’s try to git it done, pa, and bring poor Buck home,” 
he buried his face in his hands, and seemed to be trying to 
think it out. 

Bob stood patiently waiting, his heart aching in sympathy 
with theirs. Finally the old man spoke : 

“Well, sir, ef ye know, ’t ain’t no use fur us to deny it. 
Buck, he come home las’ night a’ ter midnight, and telled us 
’bout it; he said he ’d killed him, and war n’t going to deny 
it, and was bound to light out o’ the country. We sot and 
talked it over, and jest ’fore the chickens crowed fur day, he 
went off. Pore feller! he’s been nigh ’bout distracted here 
of late, and don’t rightly know what he is a doin’. I b’lieve 
he was sorry, soon as the deed was done, but he would n’t 
own it.” 


GETTING TO THE BOTTOM OF IT. 229 

“ He said the man had destroyed his happiness, and Aggie’s 
happiness, and he warn’t gwine ter leave him here to destroy 
no more folks’ happiness,” sobbed Buck’s mother. 

‘ ‘ But it ’s mighty hard on him to be runnin’ from jestice, 
and a hidin’ like a outlow, when we ’ve tried to raise him 
right, and he all our ’pendence in our ole age; and ’fore 
this, he ’s always been honest, and kind-hearted, an’ hard 
workin’, and contented as the next one, an’ no better son than 
him, nowhere’s.” 

The old man gave way, at last, to the sobs which choked 
his utterance. 

‘ ‘ Well, I hope, dear friends, we may be able to bring him 
home again, to comfort and care for you in your old age. Let 
us work together for that end.” 

“ As you say, we do know whar he is to-day an’ to-night, 
but we ha’nt nobody to send fur him, ’less I go myself, an’ 
I can’t see no count to ride of nights.” 

“ Then I will send for him.” 

“But—” 

“The person I shall send, is the only one besides ourselves 
who knows about it — the young man who saw the deed. He 
is my friend, and we can trust him.” 

“ Well, how can we fix it up ? ” 

“ I will write him an explanation and send it by the young 
man, who will come to you in a short time for directions to 
find him. You must tell him so he will be sure to find him, 
even if he has started on.” 

“But, Mr. Dean,” said the mother, “my pore boy can’t 
read yo’ writin’ ; he ’s had to work all his life, an ’s nuver had 
no chance for schoolin’.” 

“Is that so? Well then Houston shall read it to him, and 
take him a message, too.” 

20 


230 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Reckin he won’t think its jest some play-off to ketch 
him, an’ go on faster’n ever? ” 

“ Well, that might be — ” Bob stood thinking a moment. 
“ I will tell you what I will do. I will go myself if you will 
tell me where to find him. I know he will believe me when 
I tell him how it is.” 

“ The Lord bless your kin’ heart, Mr. Dean ! to think of 
you a ridin’ in the night a’ter him — and us nothin’ to you — * 
an’ nuver done nothin’ for you nuther.” 

“ Friends, I have a mother that I love very dearly, and 
who has but one son, as you have, and she will be willing to 
have me go. I will bring her to see you when I come back. 
Now give me the directions, and I will go back to town and 
get another horse.” 

“ Do you know how to go to Kolb’s Bridge on the Brushy? ” 

“ Houston will. I shall take him with me.” 

“ Well, you go thar, an’ inquire for Abe Miller’s. When 
you git thar, they ’ll tell ye how to go to Simon Miller’s, an’ 
thar ye’ll find Buck, if he hain’t left, which I don’t think he 
has.” 

Bob had taken out his book and pencil and made a note of 
the names. When he had finished he extended his hand to 
the parents. 

“ Good-bye, until I see you again, happier, I hope.” 

“Oh, Mr. Dean, you ain’t a foolin’ of us, are you, to git 
the law hold of our Buck,” cried the old woman, her suspi- 
cion taking fresh fright as she saw him about to go out of her 
sight. 

“ I am honest with you. You must trust me.” 

“I will, I will, an’ God bless you.” 


THE ANSWER RECEIVED. 


231 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ANSWER RECEIVED. 

W HEN Laura Vinson got Mary’s letter in her hand, she 
sped swiftly with it towards Mrs. Brown’s. She was 
glad, so very glad, that Mary had allowed her to be its bearer, 
for it was to her an arrow of Nemesis. She gloatingly pic- 
tured to herself how he would look when he read it, and per- 
haps, never before, in her narrow life, had she so really longed 
for the gift of speech, that she might have the sweet satisfac- 
tion of taunting him in this, the coveted hour of revenge. 
She wondered very much what words Mary had used to convey 
her refusal ; had the letter been the property of any other 
than her beloved mistress, her curiosity might have been too 
much for her honor, for it was but slightly sealed, and the 
mucilage was yet damp. When she reached the corner, she 
stopped where the Osage hedge sheltered her, and looked at 
the missive, just trying the seal a little. She could safely 
open and reseal it, without in the least damaging the en- 
velope — should she ? Mary had told her the contents, why 
should n’t she feast her eyes on the words ? 

“ No ; if she had wanted me to see them she would have 
showed them to me. They are hers, not his, yet,” and she 
hurried on out of the way of temptation. 

“Iam glad her honor bore the test,” said Bob Dean, who 
had been watching her at a little distance. He was just re- 
turning from his interview with Buck’s parents, and had seen 
the girl stop at the corner to examine the letter she carried, 
which Bob’s heart told him was an answer to the one he had 
seen Mary receive in the morning. Bob had taken quite an 


232 


BOB DEAN. 


interest in Laura, partly on account of her affliction, but per- 
haps more because of the position she occupied in Mrs. Lips- 
comb’s family, and the peculiar circumstances under which 
he had first met her. During Mrs. Lipscomb’s illness he had 
begun to teach her the mute alphabet, which she acquired 
rapidly; they had grown to be good friends, and now he 
watched anxiously to see if the confidence he had placed in 
her integrity was to be sacrificed to Eve’s weakness. But he 
was gratified by seeing her put the letter under her shawl, her 
face saying she had conquered, while at the same time it told 
of the eager interest she held in the missive. 

Jennie Brown answered her rap at the door. Laura showed 
her the letter, swept her hand over her chin and chest, and 
pointed up-stairs, moving forward as if she would go up. 
Jennie reached for the letter, saying : 

“ I will send it to him.” 

But Laura shook her head, and drew her treasure under her 
shawl, while she again assayed the stair ; but Jennie’s hand 
was laid on her arm, and her black eyes flashed indignation, 
as she said : 

“You must give it to me ! ” 

Then Laura’s blue orbs answered measure for measure, as 
she put her hand behind her under the shawl. 

Their relative power of muscle might have been put to test 
here, had it not happened that Bob Dean chose that particular 
moment to enter. Before he could possess himself of the facts 
and causes before him, Jennie very sweetly said : 

“ Laura has brought a letter for Dr. Conway. Will you be 
so kind as to take it up to him ? ” 

She was resolved that, since Laura was so set on carrying it 
herself, she should not do it, if her manoeuvring could prevent 
it, even if it only passed into some one else’s hands. But Bob 


THE ANSWER RECEIVED. 


233 


Dean had not the least desire to handle, or to be in any way 
connected with that particular letter. The whole subject was 
distasteful to him. Judging from her vivid flush at sight of 
the Doctor’s communication in the morning, Mary’s response 
could not be otherwise than most comforting to the invalid 
up-stairs. He needed comfort, certainly, for he had, and 
would have, many sources of anxiety; but Bob did not feel as 
merciful towards him as he might have done ; and just now, 
it would have given him more animal gratification to tweak 
Dr. Conway’s Grecian nose, than to convey him love-letters 
from the only woman in the world he coveted. So, motioning 
to Laura to go on up-stairs, he said to Jennie; 

“I will see that he gets it.” 

He was not looking about him as sharply as usual, or he 
might have been puzzled at the gleam of triumph which glinted 
in the mute’s eyes, the mingled anger and chagrin pictured in 
Jennie’s usually merry countenance. 

The latter turned into the now darkening parlor, and slam- 
med the door behind her. Somebody has fitly called this act 
of slamming doors “ wooden swearing ; ” and whether or not 
the term is always applicable to the mental state of the doer, 
it did not miss of fitting Jennie Brown’s sentiments, as she 
stood still in the middle of the room, her little hands fiercely 
locked across her breast, straining her ears to catch sounds 
from above. 

“ Of course I can’t hear through several walls and the floor 
and ceiling; and they won’t talk anyhow — only make signs; 
oh, what would ri 1 1 give to know what is in that letter ! If 
he is not more careful of it than of his other bits of property, 
/ will know / ‘All is fair in love and war,’ and this is both. 
But then it may be too late. I wish mamma had told her 
about that Agnes Vinson ; she promised me to do it, and 
20* 


234 


BOB DEAN. 


then let her soft heart overrule her judgment. But she shall 
know it, if I have to tell her myself, and tell her the reason, 
too. Oh , I do love him so J and I have thought lately that 
there was a coolness between him and Mary. But now she 
has written to him ; and it is a private letter, too, or she would 
not have had that child be so particular about giving it to 
him ; and she would not write to him unless she was engaged 
to him — Mary would n’t, I mean ; if it was me, or some other 
girl, ’t would be different. Oh, dear! dear! I do have so 
much trouble about him. The first thing I know, there will 
be wrinkles all over my face,” — she felt of her smooth, rosy- 
brown cheeks — “and then I know he won’t love me. I was 
in hopes Mr. Dean or his mother would help me some way, 
but I can’t talk to either of them about him, without showing 
what a slave I am to my love for him.” 

She crouched down on the rug before the dying fire and 
burst into tears. Poor child ! she had, all her sunny life, been 
accustomed to make playthings of human hearts, and was now 
feeling her first woes from the thrall of the tyrant, Love. 

Bob and Laura went up-stairs together. He knocked at 
the Doctor’s door, and Mrs. Brown, who had been sitting 
with the sick man, opened it for him. Motioning for Laura 
to enter, Bob turned and shut himself into his own room. 

Laura, fearful of another contest over her precious missive, 
slipped in without showing it, and going directly up to Dr. 
Conway, lying, pale and handsome, back upon his pillows, she 
gave him the letter ; then, as their eyes met, she made a wry 
face and laughed vindictively. As he read the address, she 
touched the end of her finger to her nose so slyly that Mrs. 
Brown did not see, then slipping out, ran down stairs and 
home again. 

Dr. Conway did not open his letter immediately. How 


THE ANSWER RECEIVED. 


235 


could he, with Mrs. Brown sitting there reading his very 
thoughts with those sharp eyes of hers ? The consciousness 
that he would not have her to know anything about the mat- 
ters to which this innocent-looking letter pertained brought a 
guilty blush to his face. Let us be glad it was so, for “ the 
man who blushes is not quite a brute.” 

He was not a little anxious, however, to know his verdict, 
for Laura’s strange conduct had awakened apprehension in his 
mind, already nervous with suspense. When he dared look up 
at Mrs. Brown, she was studiously examining the pattern of the 
carpet, though she certainly must have been already familiar 
with the design. Her silence boded no good for the culprit 
(he felt himself such), and well he knew it. He must make 
an effort to divert her mind. Toying carelessly with the little 
envelope, he said : 

“ How is Miss Jennie enjoying the holidays? It seems an 
age since I saw her, whereas it was only yesterday. Do I look 
too horrible to have her come and see me a little while? You 
would not object, would you ? I do not mean just now, but 
say after tea.” 

“ I don’t know whether she will come or not. She always 
does just as she pleases, as you very well know. I will tell 
her, and will leave you now to read your letter.” 

“Yes, just a business letter, I presume. Mrs. Lipscomb 
asked for my bill yesterday, and I sent it, and I should guess 
this to be the settlement.” 

He did not dare look up as he told the weak falsehood ; 
but Mrs. Brown did not need he should, for her understand- 
ing of it. 

“This is Sunday. Mrs. Lipscomb would scarcely attend 
to such business to-day,” she answered, without trying to 
conceal the contempt for him which her voice made evident. 


236 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Really, I forgot it was Sunday. All days are alike to 
such reprobates as myself,” and he broke the seal and un- 
folded the white sheet, but weakly turned the signature out of 
Mrs. Brown’s sight, as she went out. 

He read it through with no word uttered, save a smothered 
oath at the close ; turned and read it again — then lay still 
and hard on his pillow, the little sheet clutched tightly in his 
slender fingers, the pallor of death on his classic face, while 
the throbs of his heart quivered the cover lying over his chest. 

“Great God in heaven! This is too much to bear. She 
might have made me good — but all is lost ! ’ * 

Under like circumstances, individual men act very differ- 
ently. Duval Conway loved Mary Lipscomb just now , as 
much as was in him to love anything besides himself. Some 
men, without the restraint of religion, would give themselves 
up unreservedly to the bad ; but this man worships himself, 
and holds the comfort of his precious body paramount to all 
considerations. Let us see if he finds not some balm for his 
wounded love, and learns to endure life, even without this 
precious woman whom he has declared indispensable to his 
happiness. 

“ Jennie ! ” 

Mrs. Brown opened the sitting-room door and peeped in, 
but no Jennie she found. She came to the parlor-door and 
did likewise, repeating the call. 

“ Jennie ! ” 

“Ma’am.” The answer came half-smothered from the 
cushion arm-chair, which, standing before the fireplace, was 
doing service for Miss Jennie to cry on. Her mother closed 
the door, then came up on tip-toe, saying : 

“ Don’t be a little fool, child. He has got his answer 
from her now, one way or the other. It don’t matter to us. 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 


237 


If it is 4 no,’ vve are all right ; and if it is ‘ yes,’ I ’ll break it 
up shortly. Don’t you fret and go to making yourself ugly, 
and letting folks in the house see how silly you are about him. 
Hold up your head and show your pluck ! I’m ashamed of 
you ! He wants you to go up to see him, after supper.” 

This last was uttered somewhat timidly, the pert, scolding 
tone all gone, for she was uncertain what effect the communi- 
cation would have on her daughter, whose tact and sense of 
propriety were unexceptionable. 

“ I ’ll not go a step ! Wait till he wants me bad enough to 
do without getting his letters from somebody else.” 

She got up now, and tossed her curls defiantly — opposition 
was a sweet morsel to her feminine soul. 

“ Very well ; do as you please.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 



EA is over at Mrs. Brown’s, and Bob and his mother are 


X standing together on the rug in front of the fire, in the 
latter’s room. Bob’s arm is around her waist, while her frail 
head leans back against his broad shoulder. The features of 
both wear a look of anxiety, with this difference — hers has a 
touch of self-denial, while his is chiefly of solicitude for her 
comfort. 

“ It is hard forme to let you go, my son, on such an errand. 
It is fraught with some danger as well as exposure — for the 
sky threatens rain ; and it is a long, dreary ride. I am sorely 
tempted to say ‘ no,’ ” and she tip-toed and kissed his square 
chin. 


238 


BOB DEAN. 


“ I am glad you are able to resist the temptation then, 
mother. My word is given, and there is no one else to do it. 
Much harm may be avoided by finding the man, and bring- 
ing him back, under promise to keep peace, before the crime 
becomes known. If he does not come home, the cause of his 
disappearance must eventually transpire, and not only will 
Agnes be ruined in reputation, but Dr. Conway’s social stand- 
ing must suffer, to say nothing of the trouble it will give 
Buck’s own family. If he returns immediately we can silence 
the whole affair at once, and there will be an end of it, I 
hope. It seems to be my duty to try to accomplish it, since 
the circumstances have come to my knowledge in a manner 
almost providential.” 

“ Bob, have you no motive in this but pure philanthropy? 
Is there not some ulterior reason you have not given to me — 
perhaps not acknowledged to yourself?” 

“ None of weight, I think. If there is any other influence 
than a sense of duty and pity for the innocent sufferers in the 
affair, it takes its rise from the knowledge that I do not love 
the prime cause as well as a Christian man ought, and my 
natural feeling towards him would do him harm rather than 
good. Don’t you remember, little mother, that long ago you 
taught me the only safeguard against temptation was to pursue 
the right with diligence?” 

“ Is that all, my son ?” 

A blush crept up to the edge of his hair, as he answered 
low and tenderly : 

“All the harm that Dr. Conway suffers, she will feel too, 
and I would like she should be spared.” 

“ ‘An honest confession is good for the soul ;’ but I ought 
not to have pressed you so sorely, my boy, my brave, unselfish 
boy.” 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 


239 


A clinging caress told how his sorrows found answer in her 
heart. Bob drew the little head back and pressed warm kisses 
on eyes and lips. 

“ I must go, darling mother. Your prayers will follow me, 
and God will listen.” 

“ Heaven bless you, yes ! Bob, Mrs. Lipscomb sent word 
this afternoon for me to come and spend the night with her. 
Would you go ?” 

‘ ‘ Well, yes, I think I should. It will be less lonely for 
you there to-night.” He paused in thought, then continued: 
“ Dr. Conway wrote Miss Mary a letter this morning, and 
she answered it. Of course I can only surmise the relation 
between them which would justify the exchange of correspond- 
ence, when he is incapacitated for seeing her during a single 
day ; of course you will be very careful not to pain her by any 
allusions.” 

4 4 Trust me for that. I will put on my shawl and bonnet, 
and you may leave me there.” 

They stopped at the dining-room door, where Mrs. Brown 
was still busy about her domestic matters, and Bob explained 
where they were going, adding that he might not be back 
next day, as he had some thought of going out of town on a 
little business. 

“ I would like to know what he is up to. Something, I 'll 
be bound,” and Mrs. Brown shook her head at the depravity 
of that human nature which could presume to be up to any- 
thing that she did not know about. 

Leaving his mother at Mrs. Lipscomb’s door, Bob went to 
the livery- stable, and selected a horse suited to his needs — 
an active, spirited fellow, which could bear extra work ; for 
he had determined to follow Buck McQuillan if he had gone 
on, provided he could find out the direction he had taken. 


240 


BOB DEAN. 


Several times it occurred to him that he might be troubling 
himself unnecessarily about a matter in which he had no per- 
sonal concern ; and which fairly promised, if simply let alone, 
to bring his lucky rival to disgrace. Why couldn’t he put 
down a stop-cock on conscience and let the Doctor’s ill-wind 
blow himself a cargo of blessings? But he fought down the 
thought — it was not in Bob Dean to only begin a good thing 
— “to put his hand to the plough and look back.” After 
examining his trapping, he mounted, and rode to Houston 
Ludwig’s home. He had seen the lad in the afternoon, and 
unfolded his plans. 

The boy’s pony stood, saddled, in the shadow of a tree, a 
little distance from the gate ; and Houston himself accosted 
Bob, as he approached, speaking in suppressed tone : 

“I’m all ready, Mr. Dean ; but we must keep low, for maw 
don’t know nothing about it. Sich a cuttin’ up you never 
saw, as she ’d give us, if she was to find out.” 

“Come, Houston; that won’t do. I can’t have partner- 
ship in anything that is conducted on such a basis. Let us 
go in and ask her, and I think she will consent for you to go 
with me.” 

“ Bound she won’t. She ’ll just go to cuttin’ up. But you 
can do as you please; I ain’t a-goin’ in. Better not say 
nothin’ about me bein’ all ready; for then she’ll know I 
’lowed to go ’thout askin’. And if she says no, then you jest 
ride on, and I ’ll overtake you in ’bout a quarter.” 

“Oh, Houston! I am afraid you are a reprobate;” but 
Bob could not keep from laughing a little, as he went into 
Mrs. Ludwig’s house. I say Mrs. Ludwig’s house, because 
she was evidently the principal in the firm matrimonial. 

She was sitting by a poor fire, sewing by the light of a poorer 
lamp, and fretting about the poverty and the troubles of life. 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 


241 


Her husband, sitting near, was holding a bald-headed baby, 
which he jogged on his knee, until its heavy head rolled from 
side to side, and the sugar-pap, which the father assayed to 
hold to its mouth, came in contact as often with the eyes, 
nose, and chin, as with the rightful member. Several other 
children were about the fire, disputing over a skilletful of 
parched corn, which one — a boy about ten years — had just 
lifted from the coals. 

“Say, sis; gimme that rag; the caun ’s burnin’; and the 
plaguey thing ’s hot.” 

“ Shan’t do it.” 

“Well, I reckin I kin git it;” and he pushed the girl over 
on the floor, seizing the coveted article from her lap, while 
she struggled for her equilibrium. 

“ Maw ! maw ! Robert Lee he ’s gone and took my new 
doll dress, to lift his old skillet ! Maw ! hoo-oo-oo !” 

“ Shet up yer racket ! I ’ll whup the las’ one of you, fust 
thing you know ! Come in, Mr. Dean. I am real glad to 
see you. It ’s clever of you to come to visit us, unless we 
had a pleasanter place to receive you.” 

Her tone and language, while addressing her visitor con- 
trasted strongly with that which she served to her own family. 

“ Marthy Washington ! git up and give Mr. Dean that 
cheer. You can’t never see nothing till you ’re told to. Some 
how, things are always in a hub-bub here. I have so much 
to do, I can’t attend to everything, and Mr. Ludwig don’t 
try to help me any. I believe he ’d # let the childern pull the 
house down right over his ears, and never speak a word to 
’em. I lay, I stop your noise directly ! Sam Houston ! Bring 
me a switch! Where is Sam Houston? Robert E. Lee, 
where is your brother ? ” 

“ Do ’no ’m. Up to some o’ his shines ! He don’t stay 
21 Q 


242 


BOB DEAN. 


home nights, and be good like me,” answered the prototype 
of Virginia’s illustrious hero, filling his mouth with corn, 
which he alternately ground and blew through his teeth to 
cool. 

“ I have not time to stop, madam. I only called a moment 
to ask a favor of you,” said Bob, as soon as he could find a 
place to speak. 

“ La, me ! I don’t see how I could do you any favor. If 
it is money you want for Houston’s schooling, I just have n’t 
got it. I work hard, and try to pay my honest debts, but I 
have everything on my shoulders, and Ludwig don’t try to 
help me a bit.” 

“ Oh, now, Sary, you had n’t ought to say that. You know 
I always do what I can, when I can git a job, but when a 
man’s down in the world, it ’s mighty hard to git a start 
agin.” 

“ Down in the world ! I should guess we would go to the 
bottom, if there was any, if I waited for you to make a start. 
Jobs don’t go round peepin’ into lazy men’s doors, huntin’ 
for somebody to do ’em ; and Sam Houston has got so he ’s 
always gone, and no tellin’ what he is up to. I don’t know 
where he is at this very minute — with some bad boys, I ’ll be 
bound. I thought the school was to be free, this four months, 
or I would n’t have sent him. It ’s true, he ’s more ’n four- 
teen ; but Mr. Gooch he said, being as I was so hard up, he’d 
put him down under, as he never got no benefit while he was 
younger.” 

Bob was sorely tempted to stop her mouth with his hand 
long enough to state his business ; however, he only raised 
his voice very loud and interrupted, feeling that the circum- 
stances warranted the rudeness. 

“ Yes, madam, I understand. It is not money 1 came for, 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 


243 


but your permission to have Houston to-night and to-morrow. 
I have a ride in the country to make, and I do not know the 
roads, and want him for a guide and for company.” 

“ La ! me; I don’t know what to say. He does know the 
roads everywhere, for he drove a wagon and delivered fruit 
trees for an agent all the fall. But I don’t know where he is 
to-night.” 

‘‘I think I can find him,” said Bob, unconsciously acting 
on the principle for which he had just chided Houston. He 
could not so much blame the boy upon better acquaintance 
with the mother. He concluded that his best plan to secure 
her consent was to take it for granted and act upon it before 
she could get her volley of talk off again ; so he thanked her 
heartily and withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Three 
steps out in the yard he felt Houston’s hand on his arm. 

“Took her by storm ! That was right; I was listening. 
If you had waited three minutes, she ’d a said no. If I’d a 
asked her, she’d a hollered no all night,” said he, laughing 
and mounting his pony. This was a little scrubby fellow, 
poor and ill kept, but holding a deal of endurance and strength 
within his shaggy mustang hide. How he had come into the 
boy’s possession had remained a mystery to his mother. All 
efforts on her part to unveil the secret had proved vain, for 
Houston would only tell her “ he did not steal it, and it 
should n’t cost her anything — that was enough for her to 
know.” It is true that what corn the beast ate his master 
managed in some manner to provide ; he would even exert 
himself to labor a little rather than his “ Dexter ” should go 
too hungry. 

The sky was overcast with thin clouds and the light of the 
moon dim, but their road was plain and good, and they made 
fair speed. The ride was without adventure, and at a little 


244 


BOB DEAN. 


past one in the morning they reached the place of which they 
were in quest. Man, boy, and beast were tired and sleepy 
when Bob hallooed at the fence of one Simon Miller, whom he 
was seeking. The summons had to be repeated several times 
before it brought a response, in the head of Mr. Miller him- 
self thrust out of the half-open door. 

“Hello! What’s wanted?” 

“Is that Mr. Simon Miller?’ 

“ I ’m the man.” 

“ Please come out ; I want a few words with you.” 

“You come in; I'm not dressed,” said Mr. Miller, suspi- 
ciously. 

Bob dismounted, and giving Houston his bridle to hold, 
walked quite up to the steps, saying : 

“ My name is Dean, Mr. Miller. I have come from C , 

to-night, in search of Mr. McQuillan, whom I was told I would 
find here.” 

“ I don’t know anything about the man. If that ’s all you 
want, you’ve come to the wrong place.” He paused a mo- 
ment; but Bob was thinking and not ready to speak, so he con- 
tinued, “ But you had as well come in and stay till mornin’.” 

There was the sound within the house of a pistol being 
cocked, and a door softly opened and closed. 

“You are trying to deceive me, Mr. Miller. He is here, 
and I know it. I do not want to harm him in any way, but 
to help him. I come with a message from his father, and 
would be glad you would tell him — he knows me.” 

“You’ve come to the wrong place, Mr. Dean, and that’s 
all I ’ve got to say; ” but there was not the sound of honesty 
in his voice. 

“I will wait here while you go in, sir,” said Bob, dog- 
gedly. “You might know I could not have found him if his 
father had not have directed me — he will know it.” 


A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 


245 


“ I tell you, I don’t know anything about the fellow. You 
can stand there, though*, as long as you like. I am going to 
bed ; ” and he shut the door on Bob, who patiently kept his 
position on the steps, believing he would tell Buck his busi- 
ness, and that the latter would credit his message. There 
now came the sound of a bed creaking, as if some heavy 
person were getting into it, and Bob began to fear he would 
verify his threat, and leave him standing post that winter 
night ; but presently the back door again opened softly, and 
bare feet slipped out — a low whistle, answered from the haw- 
thicket back of the house — a stillness in the night — then a 
cautious footstep approaching. 

“ Mr. Dean,” in a whisper, “ are you by yerself ? ” 

“ No one is with me here, Buck, but Houston Ludwig is at 
the gate.” 

“Come out here, in the back yard, then, an’ I’ll talk to 
you.” 

Buck laid his hand on Bob’s shoulder, and, making a dex- 
terous movement downward, ascertained that he carried no 
arms ; then with more confidence led him off, not into the 
back yard, but into the thicket back of it. Bob appreciated 
the situation, but placed-himself entirely at the mercy of the 
desperate man, that he might more perfectly secure his confi- 
dence. 

Seated on a fallen tree, he rested his weary limbs, while 
he explained to Buck all the circumstances of the case — how 
they came to his knowledge, and what he proposed to do ; 
appealing to him, in the close, on behalf of his aged, griev- 
ing parents. 

“I tell you, Mr. Dean, it don’t take no beggin’ to make 
me go back, as fur as they ’s concerned. An’ ’ef it’s like you 
say — an’ I ain’t a doubtin’ yo’ word— I s’ pose they ain’t no 
21 * 


BOB DEAN. 


I 


246 


obsticul to my goin’ back. But puttin’ the promise in writin’,” 
• — Bob had suggested that Buck sign his name or put his 
“ mark ” to a written obligation, — “puttin’it inwritin’ ain’t 
no use, fur sence I found out what a sneak he is, an’ a liar in 
the bargain, I hain’t no mo’ use fur him, not even to shoot 
him, fur he ain’t wuth a good round bullet. Ef he ’ll stay 
away from me an’ mine, I ain’t gwine to bother him ; but ef 
he goes to puttin’ in agin, or even dares to speak to Aggie, 
ef she ain’t mine any longer, I ’ll shoot or stomp his liver 
outen him, even ef you was to have yo’ arms full of writins’ 
all a sayin’ I wouldn’t. So ’taint np use to write, fur I 
wouldn’t regard it no more than fur it to be spoke.” 

“ In that case I withdraw my security too, then, and will 
not promise to come between you and harm, should it come. 
You will both have to look after your own welfare.” 

“ All right. I know, after takin’ so much trouble fur me an’ 
mine, you hain’t a goin’ to turn State’s evidens, an’ ef it does 
leak out, I ’ll stand the consequences.” 

“ I don’t see how there can be any ill consequences. Dr. 
Conway will be as sound as ever in a week, and he can’t have 
the face to come out and say you shot him, after telling 
everybody that it was an accident.” 

“ No tellin’ what he ’d have the face to say; but it don’t 
look likely. Anyhow, I ’m a thousand times ’bleeged to you 
fur cornin’ way here in the night to let me know ; I’da been 
peertly on my way to Georgetown by daylight. I was a 
makin, straight fur the mountains, an’ no tellin’ when I’d a 
come back, I was so sure I’d killed the sneak. Umph ! 
Think o’ him drappin’ off ’n his horse purpose to fool me.” 

“ Well, I must be starting, Buck. It is late, and our tired 
horses will not travel fast. Will you come with me, or wait 
until morning ? ” 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 247 


“ Both ! You will stay here the rest of the night, and go 
to bed, you an’ the boy, and I ’ll feed yo’ hosses.” 

“ I don’t think your host feels very kindly towards me,” 
said Bob, doubtfully. 

“Who? Uncle Simon? Pshaw! he’s all right. He 
thought you was a huntin’ me, to ’rest me ; you see he did n’t 
know you, and he ’s a good friend of mine ; he ’d stand by 
me through thick an’ thin. You bet, Uncle Simon’s all 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 



ERE are some nice ones, Mrs. Dean.” 


11“ They are all nice. Where do you get such fine 
nuts?” 

“ Clarence Vaughn brought me these. Sometimes we have 
nutting parties and go to the river-bottoms for them.” 

“ Go to the river-bottoms ! What can you mean ? ” 

“ Just what I said,” answered Mary, laughing ; “ I did not 
say to the bottom of the river, please understand — the trans- 
position is everything in this instance. But, since you do not 
understand our provincial phraseology, I will explain that I 
had reference to the low-lying alluvial strips of soil which 
border Little River, San Gabriel, and other streams, on each 
side, producing a magnificent growth of vegetable monarchs !” 
and she bowed with mock dignity. 

“Ah ! I am glad to know you do not need to go under. I 
have a cattish horror of getting wet — especially my feet. But 
these pecans are worth a little inconvenience.” 


BOB DEAN. 


248' 

“Yes, we don’t often get such fine ones as these of Clar- 
ence’s.” 

“ He is as good as his pecans, too ! ” said Mrs. Lipscomb, 
who was sitting in her arm-chair, watching Mrs. Dean and 
Mary eat their nuts. 

“Who? Clarence? Yes, he is. He is a stanch friend of 
your son, Mrs. Dean,” said Mary, getting down on her knees 
before the sparkling fire to crack a new supply of nuts, with 
the tack-hammer, in lieu of the nut-crackers which had mys- 
teriously gotten out of place when wanted to-night. She was 
looking very sweetly, with just a shade of stirred feeling 
behind the calm exterior which told to the beholder that she 
possessed her soul in peace. Only the jealous eye of her 
mother could see that her cheerfulness was nearer to gayety 
than was natural. When she mentioned Bob, his mother 
wished he could see her, kneeling there, the picture of grace, 
with the fire-light bringing out the gold in her shining hair, 
and deepening the depths of her beautiful eyes. But,.4;An 
second thought, Mrs. Dean was glad he could not see her, for 
each new beauty could but add to the burden of disappoint- 
ment he might have to bear. 

There was a white chrysanthemum in her hair, the last of 
the season, which she had found alone on its stalk that after- 
noon. Mrs. Dean now remembered that both times she had 
seen Mary, she had worn one of the kind ; then her thoughts 
found a reason for a brown and withered one she had dis- 
covered in Bob’s vest-pocket, a few hours ago, when folding 
that article away after church-wear. It lay in company with 
a bit of torn sheet-music, and she had thought to rally him 
upon the hoarding ; but she reconsidered now, and gave him 
a sigh of commiseration, thinking : 

“ I did n’t believe Bob would ever be soft about anything ; 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 249 

but, as Gressett says, ‘ Love places a genius and a fool on a 
level.’” 

Mary now arose from her humble attitude, and offered her 
nuts, while she smiled at Mrs. Dean’s abstraction. That lady 
noticed it, and rallied the conversation. 

“ What were you saying? My thoughts ran away with me 
— oh, about Bob — yes ; and he thinks a great deal of Clarence, 
too; and also Houston Ludwig. He has spoken to me about 
them both. ” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Lipscomb, “Houston is a strange kind 
of a boy ; but I think he is like my peach preserves — better 
than he appears. He thinks a great deal of his teacher, too.” 

“ Boys nearly always like Bob,” said his mother. 

“It is curious how little use they have for Dr. Conway. 
Houston can take him off to a T — the way he has of rubbing 
down hrs beard, and fixing his moustache*” and Mrs. Lips- 
c > b.s voice came near betraying her own opinion of the man. 
Sh . sorry the instant she had spoken, for she did not want 
to wound her child anew. 

“ That is Laura’s way of designating him,” said Mary, with 
an effort. 

It was hard for her to hear him spoken of to-night without 
losing her self-control. The heat of anger, which the first 
knowledge of his duplicity had called up, having subsided, 
reaction in his favor had set in ; and just now she only re- 
membered he loved her, had plead for her, and that she had 
lost him, and had no lover. Most women will understand, as 
will those men who have learned to know women’s hearts — 
will understand, and not utterly condemn ; remembering it was 
but the reaction of the heart, and not the dictation of judg- 
ment. She was very sorry for herself to-night ; and it was well 
that Mrs. Dean remembered that Dr. Conway was a forbidden 
subject, and directed the conversation to another channel. 


250 


BOB DEAN. 


“Miss Jennie thinks the Christmas Tree was an entire 
success. * ’ 

“ I should like to have gone. Oh ! I must show you my 
present, which some unknown friend was kind enough to put 
on the Tree for me,” and Mary brought forward a hand- 
somely-bound book of music. “See! some of the best and 
latest selections of both sacred and secular music. Here, on 
the fly-leaf, is gummed a wreath of exquisite ferns, making a 
fit place for a presentation address ; but only my name, in 
German script, within. The gift-committee sent it up to me; 
but no one seems to know the donor. They say it was left 
on the table, the day they were arranging the Tree, by some 
unknown hand, with only my address on the paper wrapper. ” 

“ Some one who knows you love music and make it,” said 
Mrs. Dean, smiling. Mrs. Lipscomb suspected she knew more 
about it than she chose to tell. Mary, looking up, intercepted 
the significant glance which passed between them, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ Ah, I know now ! You brought it for me. You are too 
kind,” and she bestowed on her a kiss by way of thanks. 

“I do not deserve your thanks, dear, though I gratefully 
accept the kiss in Bob’s behalf, who made the gift. He wrote 
to me to have the book bound for you, even naming the pieces 
of music to compose it. I arranged the ferns, and he wrote 
the presentation.” 

“ It is beautiful. How lovely those ferns are ! Do you 
know, Mrs. Dean, I have never seen ferns grow excepting in 
a cultivated state.” 

“ Indeed ! They are much more beautiful when Nature 
plants them, for she knows just what tints of background to 
give them. The most expensive and elegant vase of the florist 
cannot compare for effect with the browns and grays and lichen 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 2^1 

fringes of their native mouldy rocks. They flourish luxu- 
riantly around Austin. These came from Bee Springs.” 

“And where are they? ” asked Mary, eager for Mrs. Dean 
to talk. 

“ Bee Spring? It is a natural grotto and spring about four 
miles northwest from the city, beyond the Colorado River. 
I wish you could see it; it is beautiful.” 

“ Please tell me about it — just like you saw it, I mean.” 

“ If you will allow me to tell a little story with the descrip- 
tion, I will. They are so blended in my mind, I should be 
puzzled to separate them,” said Mrs. Dean, laughing. 

“ Oh, that will be delightful. Can’t you begin with ‘once 
upon a time’ ? ” 

“ ‘ Once upon a time,’ and the last time I visited the place, 
was when I gathered these ferns. It was the twenty-first of 
April, San Jacinto’s day, which is quite generally observed 
in Austin as a public holiday. The government offices are 
all closed, as also are the banks, schools, and most of the 
business-houses. There was a great stir in town about a fire- 
man’s picnic excursion to Round Rock. All the fire, hook 
and ladder, and military companies of Austin, and from some 
neighboring towns, were to unite and have a grand celebra- 
tion at ‘ Fireman’s Grove,’ near Round Rock. A good many 
citizens, also, were going, and those of us who did not care 
for that kind of pleasure still felt as if we should be defrauded 
of our legitimate rights if we remained quietly at home. So 
a friend of mine, who had two grown sons clerking in mercan- 
tile houses, proposed that we make up a little party and spend 
the day at Bee Spring. Her boys were closely confined to 
their business, and needed the recreation which the holiday 
offered ; and, being naturally more than gay, she objected to 
having them attend the larger affair at Round Rock, where 


252 


BOB DEAN. 


beer-drinking and dancing were to be conspicuous features of 
amusement. Bob wanted to go, while I was very indifferent 
about it, for the weather looked threatening. But my friend 
arranged everything, and one of the open wagons called for 
us about nine o’clock. 

“ Our road lay up the river for a mile or more, through the 
beautiful cedar-clad hills and lime-quarry cliffs. On our 
right, we had picturesque glimpses of suburban residences, 
with the castle-like battlements of the military institute, lend- 
ing a Rhenish grandeur to the scene. Before us, the most 
southern spurs of Lampasas Mountains broke the view; their 
purple haze furnishing just the needful background tint for the 
picture. At short intervals, a turn in the winding road would 
reveal glimpses of the beautiful river, which, presently, we 
reached and forded. There the view was enchanting, up 
and down, as /far as the eye could stretch. 

“ On the further side we met a difficulty in the nature of a 
sand-bed, which tried our horses’ strength and our human 
patience — or impatience ; which latter predominated among 
the elder persons of our number. The young folks were happy 
anywhere, for the party had been judiciously selected, and 
each one’s sweetheart \vas along. They had made a foray on 
the lunch-baskets, abstracting a number of lemons and a box 
of sugar, and they made thrSir merry with their laughter and 
songs. 

“ We finally pulled through the sand, and, climbing a steep 
hill, immediately descended into a ravine; then up another 
rise, when we passed under an overhanging cliff, through 
which the water had percolated, till it produced a bog in the 
road beneath. Our teams were none of the strongest, and 
here the front one refused to pull, resisting every urgent 
measure with kicks and plunges. The ladies, of course, 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 253 

screamed, and began leaping out into the mud; for, really, 
the situation looked dangerous — our road lying on the edge 
of a bluff, and only wide enough for one vehicle, while the 
cliff shut us in on the left, and there was a sheer fall of twenty 
feet or more on the right. But, though I have always enter- 
tained the fatalistic idea that our lives would be preserved 
until we have run our destined course, yet there are no policies 
assuring dry feet, and so I had to be responsible on that score 
myself ; and, as I had been so imprudent as to come out in 
Newport ties, I kept my seat. I was the only person left in 
our wagon, except one timid girl, who was afraid to jump lest 
she fall. Presently, Bob came, and lifting me in his arms, 
carried me to a nice, flat rock, under the edge of the over- 
hanging cliff. So my feet were all right. Then they un- 
fastened the horses from the rear wagon, and, putting them 
before the stubborn team, pulled them out. 

“ When about to hitch up and proceed, some one suggested 
that we leave the vehicles there, and walk to the springs, as 
they were but a little farther. Bob and I remained behind 
awhile, and were rewarded by one of the . grandest views I 
ever saw. Immediately in front was the narrow bed* of Bee 
Spring Creek, twenty feet below us, where the blue waters 
tumbled and whirled around the great, brown rocks. On the 
opposite side was a green flat, som4 sixty yards wide, covered 
with flowers, in countless number and variety. Behind this 
rose a broken ledge of cliffs, I suppose more than a hundred 
feet high, where the different strata displayed each an indi- 
vidual color, varying from snowy white through the shades 
of gray, neutral, blue, brown, and almost green. The general 
effect was sombre in the extreme. In the niches and recesses 
of these cliffs, the bees once had their populous homes, culling 
their harvest of nectar from the bounteous garden at the foot. 


22 


254 


BOB DEAN. 


Hence the name of the adjacent springs. I believe some hives 
are still found here ; but the bees have learned from experience 
to be shy of human marauders, and generally choose inacces- 
sible strongholds. 

“ Beyond these shelving rocks, the mountains rise in solemn 
grandeur, looming up, one behind another, in the distance 
until their purple is lost in the blue. Above us frowned 
another cliff, about fifteen feet high, jutting over the road like 
a vaulted roof, or resembling more a mammoth umbrella. 
From this hang the ferns, principally the species known as 
* Maiden’s Hair ’ (Adiantum Capillus Veneris), though there 
are some of the * Mother Ferns ’ (Polypodium Vulgare). 
They look like fairy fringe-work, so light, so fantastic, and 
lovely, with their roots fixed in the friendly crevices of the 
rocks and nourished by the ever-dripping water, which trickles 
through them and falls tinkling on the flints below. This 
last feature, though weird and charming to the imagination, 
did not add to my present comfort, for our day’s misfortunes had 
reached their climax in a steady, patient-falling rain, and all 
nature was now wet, both under and beyond the cliff. We 
could hear the shouting and talking of our friends, and con- 
cluded to join them, and ascertain if they had found any way 
to extract comfort from our unpropitious surroundings. We 
had secured a fine supply of ferns, and, having bound their 
roots in his handkerchief (for they are very sensitive to rough 
handling), Bob put them in a damp, secure place and helped 
me down from my rock. 

“ We found our party a short distance beyond a turn in the 
road ; the young folks clambering among the rocks, and 
climbing the mountain side, regardless of soiled dresses and 
muddy shoes. Some had donned rubber cloaks, offered by 
their escorts, and they were a mad and merry crew. The 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 255 


elder ladies, with pinned-up skirts and woe-begone faces, 
sought insufficient shelter under umbrellas and trees. Here 
was the spring, too, lovely enough, though nobody thought of 
it now. Bursting right through a cleft in the stone wall, it 
poured like a mill-race down about two feet, then crossed the 
road and tumbled over the precipice below in a seething tor- 
rent — little, but perfect in its style. But I am growing tedi- 
ous, and, having described the scenery, will cut off the thread 
of my narrative.” 

“Oh ! no, Mrs. Dean ! I enjoy it, and must know the rest,” 
cried Mary. I am anxious to know how you managed a pic- 
nic in the rain. I feel sure that you did manage some way to 
make it pleasant.” 

“ Oh, there was a house just across the creek, and Bob 
went over and begged leave to spread our dinner in the hall ; 
this the lady of the jiouse readily granted, saying we could 
have the hall and two rooms besides. We soon tumbled in — 
no other word would express the manner of our entrance — 
and found plenty of room, for the people had been married 
but a few months, and positively had nothing in the house 
except a bed, one little trunk, a large box, a few cooking- 
vessels, four plates, and two cups and saucers. There was not 
even a chair. 

“ The wife — a girl of fifteen — was sitting on the side of the 
bed, sewing, and her husband, not many years her senior, 
was seated on the trunk whetting his axe with a little stone. 
They had very little to eat either, I found, and not much to 
w r ear, though the wife put a bit of purple ribbon around her 
neck after we got in. She- had no collar or ruffle to her 
dress. 

“ They were from the mountains, and he was a wood-cutter. 
We had a most bountiful and elegant lunch, and, as is usually 




256 


BOB DEAN. 


the case, enough for twice our number. When we had finished, 
the ladies offered what remained to the little wife, which she 
received with wide eyes of astonishment and eagerness. There 
was enough to have kept her table in princely abundance for 
a week. 

“ We loaded up immediately after dinner, and returned to 
town in time to see the excursion train from Round Rock 
come in, with its bedrabbled and worn-out freight. They 
had looked so gay and elegant in the morning, clad in fresh 
linens and lawns, and even spring silks and new bonnets. 
But the cars were open flats ; and streaming pennons and gay 
banners were poor defence against the pelting rain. They 
were a pitiable spectacle. The papers had much sport at their 
expense, calling them ‘Land Grabbers,’ because of the quan- 
tity of black, waxy mud from the prairie, which clung to the 
once dainty feet. Some one even compared the ladies’ shoes 
to ‘ Morgan’s mud-scows.’ ” 

“ How ridiculous !” exclaimed Mary; then drawing a deep 
breath she continued, “It was so lovely to hear you tell it. 
Oh ! I wish I could see it, and all the beautiful scenery about 
Austin, of which I have heard Mr. Dean speak so enthusias- 
tically.” 

“ I shall have a home there again, some time, and then 
you will come and pay me a long visit, and we will go every- 
where that is worth looking at.” 

“That would be delightful.”. 

Mary sat turning over the leaves of her music-book, thought- 
fully. A little exclamation of surprise. 

“Oh! here is ‘Lucia di Lammermoor,’ Mrs. Dean. I 
must tell you something laughable about that piece of music,” 
and her gurgling laugh made melody such as has never been 
written. 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 257 


“ I expect I know what you mean. Bob told me how he 
ran into an acquaintance with you,” said Mrs. Dean, joining 
in Mary’s laugh. 

“ Country people, you know, sometimes call the receiving 
of an introduction to a stranger * getting knocked down ’ to 
him. I could not help thinking of this, and that was what 
made me laugh so,” said Mary. 

“Let us have some music now,” begged Mrs. Lipscomb, 
turning towards the piano. 

“Yes, please, Mrs. Dean, sing for us; your son has told us 
how you love music.” 

“ My voice is not so strong as it used to be, and is but in- 
different without Bob’s to sustain it. It always seems strange 
to me to sing without him. We have sung together almost 
every night of his life since he was three years old until he 
came here.” The little mother’s voice was husky, and her 
gray eyes were too bright to be dry. 

“ He sings for us nearly every time he comes. For a time, 
while mother was at the worst, she took a fancy that she could 
not go to sleep until he had sung to her. It was beautiful.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lipscomb, “I would shut my eyes, and 
the music would seem to get further off, until I could dream 
it was an angel in heaven I heard. But it was best when Mary 
sang with him.” 

Everything that Mary had apart in was best in her mother’s 
estimation. 

Something there was in that last remark which touched a 
hidden spring of sympathy in Bob’s mother, for she suddenly 
left the piano where she had stood, turning the loose sheets 
of music, and coming behind Mrs. Lipscomb’s chair, stooped 
down and kissed her, leaving a tear on her cheek. Mary 
thought she was moved by the praise of her boy, but Mrs. 

22 * R 


258 


BOB DEAN. 


Lipscomb found another source for the current of feeling 
which had prompted the act of demonstration. 

“And now let us sing together,” said Mrs. Dean, seating 
herself at the piano a moment later. “ Perhaps our two voices 
in a new combination may not make bad music.” Her utter- 
ance still trembled a little, for her mind had gone after Bob, 
now riding in the darkness over strange roads, perhaps into 
danger. But her skilled fingers brought unthought-of melody 
from the instrument, and when their united voices rose in uni- 
son the music was inexpressibly sweet. Passers on the side- 
walk paused and listened with charmed attention, and vainly 
sought to catch a glimpse of the performers whom white cur- 
tains hid from view, only tantalizingly revealing a shadowed 
outline. 

When the music was finished, the social little party retired 
for the night. Mrs. Lipscomb shared her bed with the guest. 
Like many persons who are past their youth, she was not a 
ready sleeper; besides, during her illness she had used opiates 
freely, and the disposition to wakefulness was doubtless ag- 
gravated thereby. Perhaps these were the reasons that the two 
mothers talked far into the night. 

Mary, lying in the next room, tried to make this excuse for 
her mother, yet she very much feared she was telling some 
“tales out of school,” for the murmur of their voices was 
low and earnest, except once or twice, when her mother’s 
took on that sharp ring it was wont to have when she was in- 
dignant. She comforted herself, however, with the thought 
that the deposits of confidence, whatever they might be, were 
safe with Mrs. Dean ; in fact, she argued with herself, she did 
not see, were she in her mother’s place, how she could help 
opening her own heart to the sweet and gentle woman. Now 
she fell to thinking of the loving and loved mother and son, 


BEE SPRINGS AND SAN JACINTO DAY. 259 

and even imagined how fondly Bob would love his wife when 
Providence and his own will should give him one. She verily 
believed if he were to make up his mind to have a woman love 
him, she would find herself compelled, by the very force of 
that will, to do so. Unconsciously she half-envied that fu- 
ture woman — or present, she might be; for it was quite prob- 
able he had already made his choice. He was so simple 
and cordial with ladies — so different from young men who 
sought to make an impression, even as if his wooing were all 
done. 

Truly Bob had succeeded well in his purpose of concealing 
his affection, for nothing could be further from her thought 
than that she were that envied woman. Had she guessed it, ’t is 
probable she would have recoiled from the thought of even 
Bob Dean’s love, much as she honored him; for she yet 
trembled when she remembered the narrow escape she had 
so lately made of binding her life to that of a wicked man. 
She felt love to be a tyrant, and, fearing, would fain elude his 
toils. But her heart warmed towards Bob, as she thought of 
the hours of weary watching he had shared with her, beguil- 
ing their tedium by his sensible and friendly talk, and always 
thoughtful for her comfort. 

“I hope his sweetheart is good and worthy of him — but 
he could make any woman good,” and she turned over and 
fell asleep, with a prayer in her heart for his happiness, and a 
thanksgiving that she had been saved from the peril of a life’s 
shipwreck with a worse man. Yet there was a tear on her 
cheek — a tear of self-pity, of grief for her wasted love, which 
she just now felt could never be gathered again. Lives there 
a woman who has not, at some time and in some degree, felt 
the same ? 

Mary’s surmise about the exchange of confidence in the 


26 o 


BOB DEAN. 


next room was wrong, only in that it did not reach half the 
ground covered by the confidence. 

They began on indifferent topics. But the common enjoy- 
ment of the same pairs of blankets and sheets, is not con- 
ducive to reserve. Neither could have told afterwards how 
it came; but it was not long till each mother had told to 
the other the story of her child’s trouble. When Mrs. Dean 
found that Mrs. Lipscomb knew the truth about Dr. Conway, 
and that he and Mary certainly were not engaged, she felt 
that the ban laid by Bob upon her was removed, and they 
could talk freely about the whole matter. She told Mrs. 
Lipscomb of Bob’s night enterprise, and the plans they had 
made to bring about a reconciliation between Buck and his 
sweetheart. They talked of Mary’s escape, too ; and in talk- 
ing of her, somehow, Bob’s love came out. Mrs. Lipscomb 
was not surprised ; in fact, she had sharply suspected it for 
some time. But she did not encourage his mother to hope 
that his suit would prove successful ; on the contrary, she 
feared the shock Mary’s confidence had just sustained would 
prevent her from forming any new ties soon. But that she 
entertained the highest respect and friendship for him was 
certain. 

They agreed it wduld be far better to keep the knowledge 
from her at present, trusting to time to weld the bonds of 
friendship into closer links. 

“ It will be a world of comfort to poor, dear Bob, to know 
that she has not promised herself away. I suppose I may tell 
him that ! ” 

“ I should think you might. Let him take all the comfort 
he can. I wish it were more, for, dear Mrs. Dean, I would 
rather leave her for him to take care of, when I am called 
home, than anybody I know besides. ’ * 


“i wouldn’t trust him,” etc. 


261 


CHAPTER XXV. 

I WOULD N’T TRUST HIM, BUT I WOULD LOVE HIM ALL 
THE SAME.” 

“ The only art 

To give repentance to her lover, 

And wring his bosom is — to die !” 

I T was Wednesday afternoon before Bob found it conven- 
ient to verify his promise to take his mother to see the 
McQuillan family. 

He took a buggy which would accommodate three persons, 
and Mary Lipscomb went along to see Agnes Vinson. In 
the council held after Bob’s return from his expedition, and 
after he had learned from his mother that Mrs. Lipscomb and 
Mary were acquainted with the girl’s sad story, they had 
agreed that Mary was the one best fitted to gain her confi- 
dence. 

Bob had advised Buck to stay away from her, and to betray 
no interest in her, until his ground should be prepared for 
him. 

He had readily assented to this, declaring : 

“ I ain’t a gwine to throw myself in her way, no how, — not 
even to look at her, ’thout I know she wants me ter — though 
I don’t blame her, mind.” 

Bob left his mother at the McQuillan’s gate, and then 
drove with Mary to the Vinson double log-house. After help- 
ing her out, he left her, promising to return for her in less 
than an hour. 

The widow, Polly, who was engaged in hanging out some 


262 


BOB DEAN. 


badly-washed clothes in the yard, directed Mary to go in, 
saying : 

“ Agnes is in the house there. I don’t know whether she 
is any better or not — ’deed I don’t know if there ’s anything 
the matter with her, except the sulks ; you can go in and see 
her. You’ll have to excuse me for awhile. I ’ve got to git 
my clothes hung out before I can quit — some folk, though, can 
git along without work.” 

Mary found Agnes sitting on the dirty hearth, her chin 
resting in the palm of her hand, and her stolid eyes fixed 
gloomily on the fire. 

“ Good-evening, Agnes. Laura told me you have been 
sick, and I have come to see you,” said Mary, taking a 
chair by her side, and laying her hand on the girl’s passive 
fingers. 

“ I am much ’bliged to you, ma’am but she turned her 
gaze back to the fire, and Mary took notice of the paleness 
of her sallow cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes. 

“You are better, are you not? ” 

“ Yes ’m, I s’pose so.” 

Her voice is husky, and she clears her throat. 

“Agnes, I have heard your sad story, and have come to see 
if I can help you in any way.” 

“ I don’t s’pose there ’s any help for such as me. I don’t 
deserve none;” and she replaces her hand under her chin, 
and looks still at the fire. 

“ I do not feel that way about you, Agnes. I think you 
are more wronged than in the wrong.” 

Mary feels very indignant with Dr. Conway, and does not 
see how she could ever have loved him. 

“ No, ma’am ; I had n’t ought to have been such a fool as 
to believe a man like him could be anything to the likes of 


“i wouldn’t trust him,” etc. 263 

me ; but I did believe him, and there ’s no help for me now. 
But I reckin I can die, and get outen everybody’s way.” 

Her voice is thick and tremulous, but the heavy face is im- 
movably still. 

“ Oh, Agnes ! you must not feel so ; and you certainly 
ought not to talk so, or some one will think you are worse 
than you are.” 

“ It don’t matter what folks think. When you break a 
woman’s heart, there ain’t no pride left in her,” 

“ But your heart is not broken ; it is your wounded pride 
which makes you feel so mortified and despondent. And he 
is not worthy the sacrifice of your life ; he is not half as good 
as you are, for he is neither honest with himself nor with 
any one else.” 

Mary’s indignation against Dr. Conway increases every mo- 
ment, for she just now fully realizes the measure of his sin, 
as she sits by the side of this poor stranded life — a victim to 
the blandishments of her own handsome lover. 

“Oh! you don’t know, Miss Mary. Wounded pride 
would n’t make me dream of him, night after night — dream 
I could hear his voice, and look into his eyes ; dreamed he 
touched me, and I was full of happiness. Oh! you don’t 
know;” and she broke down into tears, having confessed all 
her weakness. 

Mary pressed her hand, and wept in company. She began 
to feel that she “ did not know,” and to fear her task was a 
hopeless one; but she made another effort. 

“ But you will not love him, when you remember he denies 
having sought your love ; when you remember how false he is. 
It is not him you love, but what you thought him.” 

Mary was thinking of her own spoiled ideal. 

“ I never thought nothin’ about it. I just loved him.” 


264 


BOB DEAN. 


“If he were to come to you again, would you trust him?” 

“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t trust him; but I would love 
him all the same.” 

Her voice was low and tender, as if she were thinking of 
the sweetness of the possibility. 

Mary knew her task was hopeless now. She could not 
understand this woman, with so much heart and so little 
pride. 

“ Knowing him as you do, do you want him to come back 
to you, Agnes?” 

There was a doubt of her in Mary’s voice, but it made no 
impression on her. She answered : 

“No, ma’am. It wouldn’t be any use; it would only be 
to fool me again. Miss Mary, I don’t want anything but to 
be let alone ” — “ to die,” her tone added. 

The weariness and despair in her manner were piteous indeed. 

Looking at her dejected figure, Mary saw it was useless to 
discuss the subject in that light any longer; so she changed 
her tactics. 

“ Have you heard that Buck has come back ?” 

“Yes’m. But I haven’t seen him.” 

“ No; he is afraid you don’t want to see him. He looks 
very sad and full of trouble.” 

“Yes ’m; he has lots to bear ; and he ain’t to blame either 
— he was always good to me, and I ’ve treated him worse than 
anybody.” Tears came to her eyes, and Mary began to hope 
for Buck’s cause. 

“ You do not blame him, then, for attacking Dr. Conway ? ” 

“ While I thought he was dead, I said I would never for- 
give Buck ; but I remembered he done it for the love he had 
of me, and I was sorry for him to be a runnin’ from home 
and everybody — and he always so kind-hearted.” 


“i wouldn’t trust him,” etc. 265 

“ Would you like to see him, Agnes, and tell him you 
don’t hold it against him? ” 

“ No, ma’am. It would only freshen up our troubles. You 
all tell him, and then let him forget me — I ain’t worth 
thinkin’ about.” 

“ But, Agnes, you must arouse yourself, and throw off this 
despair. God gave you your life with a purpose, and you 
ought to seek that purpose out, and do it. Even if you have 
no hope in yourself, live for others.” 

“ ’T would n’t be any use — I have nobody since Grandma’s 
gone. Laura has got you all to take care of her, and Aunt 
Polly don’t care for me.” 

Mary talked some time longer with her, but could make no 
impression on her stolid indifference. She was half angry 
with the girl, while she pitied her from her soul. But she 
was glad to hear Bob drive the buggy up, for she had begun 
to “ weary of well doing.” 

Agnes showed a little feeling in thanking her for her in- 
terest, but did not ask her to repeat the visit. 

“Buck must stay away from her, until she begins to be 
anxious to see him. A little wholesome neglect from him 
will do her good, now,” said Bob, when Mary had made her 
report. 

“ But, Mr. Dean, she looks so hopelessly sad — like her 
heart were indeed broken and she might die.” 

“ ‘ Men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for 
love,’ ” quoted Bob, a little heartlessly Mary thought. 

“ Man is different from a woman, though, in things per- 
taining to the heart,” ventured Mary, timidly, as if afraid to 
put her judgment against his. 

A moment’s pause, weighing her words, and he answered 
with a deep, earnest voice : 

23 


266 


BOB DEAN. 


“ No, Miss Mary, not essentially different, except as indi- 
viduals. You and I, for instance, differ less than do you and 
Agnes — if you will pardon the personality.” 

In the dark eyes, searching her own, there was something 
she did not understand that stirred her heart. Had she 
looked well, she might have read his secret, but it was only a 
furtive glance she gave, ere her eyes fell under the thought 
that he was coupling Dr. Conway with herself, in his mind, 
while he contrasted her with Agnes. She did not know that 
he was aware of their present standing with each other, but 
she did know that he had suspected a nearer one. And oh, 
pitiable condition ! she was ashamed that she had loved the 
Doctor, and heartily wished she could in some way let Bob 
know they were nothing to each other ; but modesty, and 
justice to a rejected suitor, forbade an explanation, and she 
could only wait until time should make plain some things 
which words might not tell. 

Unwittingly she had gotten into the habit of measuring 
things by Bob’s standard 'of right and wrong, and so great 
was her respect for him that she was solicitous to do nothing 
which might compromise his good opinion. 

Blind ! blind ! Bob Dean, sitting by her side, watching the 
rare color flit over her sweet face, would have given his new 
fortune ten times doubled, and all his world beside, to know 
he might have the right to be by her side the rest of his 
natural life. But now he observed how serious her looks were, 
and continued the conversation. 

“ You must not think I am unfeeling towards that poor girl 
yonder. I pity her as deeply as. you do, but recommend a 
painful cure for a callous wound. She is stunned by the press- 
ure of her woe — does not feel at all really, and we’ must put 
her benumbed nature to aching for sympathy before we offer 
a sedative.” 


“i wouldn’t trust him,” etc. 267 

“I understand you;” a long breath, and she continued 
almost in a whisper, “ 1 wish Dr. Conway could see her as I 
did.” 

Bob’s eyes are looking straight ahead, and his mouth is 
stern and hard in an instant, but he flips a fly with his whip, 
and is silent. 

Mary watches the bare “Black-Jack” bushes as they fly 
past, and her thoughts are busy with the scene she has just 
left. She is thinking of what he said about a difference 
between her and Agnes, and her heart thrills with gratitude 
that God had made a difference. 

Somehow, it seems to her that Bob Dean, as well as God, 
is taking care of her, and has been all along. It came into 
her mind to say something of this in a way of thanks, but on 
looking again into his troubled face she gave up the thought, 
and fell to wondering what that hidden sorrow was, which so 
often cast a gloom over him. 

They now reached Mr. McQuillan’s gate, and Mrs. Dean, 
having seen their approach, had made her adieus, and was 
coming to the gate accompanied by Buck. 

Mary was grieved to see the eager, questioning look of his 
hungry eyes as they met hers. 

Bob answered for her : 

“No, Buck, you must not go yet — she does not want to 
see you, and if you put yourself in her way, she may learn to 
dread and dislike you — which she does not now. Tell him 
what she said, Miss Mary.” 

Buck’s eyes are turned on her, as she says, as quietly as 
possible : 

“She said that you had always been kind to her, and she 
had treated you worse than anybody. She remembers that 
what you have done wrong, was on account of the love you 


268 


BOB DEAN. 


had for her, and she does not hold it against you ; but you 
must not go to see her, for it would only give you fresh pai.n ; 
you must forget her.” 

Buck swallowed a big lump of disappointment, and mut- 
tered : 

4 ‘ I won’t do that, if I live ’tell Jedgment Day ; but mind, 
I don’t blame her. I am much ’bleeged to you all, for the 
intrust you ’ve tuk ; but it ain’t no use,” and he went off into 
the bushes on the bank of the creek, close by, to have out his 
“dark hour.” 

Bob and Mrs. Dean and Mary spoke but little on their 
homeward ride, for they carried full hearts. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


cupid’s darts, pierced hearts, and so forth. 



OMPLIMENTS of Mrs. G. Bernice Delgado to Dr. 


Conway, with many good wishes for his speedy re- 
covery. ’ ’ 

An elegant, frosted cake, decorated with devices of “pierced 
hearts and Cupid’s darts,” accompanied with a bouquet of 
delicate purple and white hyacinths, and the above compli- 
ments. 

Jennie Brown took the basket from the bearer at the front 
door, and conveyed it into the dining-room, the more con- 
veniently to inspect its contents, and assure herself that it 
contained nothing contraband. 

Certainly, cake and flowers, and devices and compliments, 
could not be, in themselves, harmful to the interesting invalid 


cupid’s darts, pierced hearts, etc. 269 

up-stairs; but since that troublesome letter, which yet re- 
mained all a mystery to her, had run the blockade, she had 
been vigilant and keen. Had this sweet demonstration been 
from some other source, she might have reluctantly forwarded 
it to its destination. But she chuckled with glee as she pic- 
tured the Doctor receiving this “remembrancer” from his 
fair enchantress (?), and instantly determined to carry it to 
him herself. 

“ What is that, Jennie ? ” said Mrs. Brown, coming in just 
as she had readjusted the silk paper around it. For answer, 
she opened it to inspection. 

“What does the card say? I am making pies, and my 
hands are all over flour.” 

Jennie read it aloud, without comment. 

“Humph,” said Mrs. Brown. “Much he’ll care for it. 
Suppose she thinks we can’t make cake here, or perhaps she 
knows how fond he is of it, and is afraid he don’t get enough. 
Be bound, it ’s sad inside ; but she has prinked it up to 
make up for it — reminds me of her deceitful old face.” 

“Oh, mamma ! what an idea ! I am going to take it up 
to him myself. What do you think about it ? ” 

“ Jennie ! if you ain’t the beatenest case that ever was 
born. Message after message he has sent you, and you have 
taken no notice of him ; and now, just because that is from 
her — that you know he hates worse than poison — you — well, 
you always did have a head on your shoulders.” 

Mrs. Brown shook her own head, but she was laughing. 

“And malice in my heart?” said Jennie, going off with 
her burden of sweetness. 

“Come in!” said Dr. Conway, in response to her rap at 
his door. 

“It is I, Doctor — Jennie. Please open the door.” 

23 * 


270 


BOB DEAN. 


A man would have sneered, and a woman laughed, to see 
him go to the mirror, and touch up his beard, ere he je- 
sponded to her request. 

“ Miss Jennie ! How kind of you to come ! And, do you 
think you have need to bring a peace-offering ? You have 
treated me shabbily, but you need not have made your olive- 
branch so heavy.” 

Taking the basket from her, he put it on the table; and, with 
a suavity quite gratifying, proceeded to examine the presenta- 
tion, which, he thought, maidenly modesty had prompted her 
to write, instead of delivering by “word of mouth.” 

All the catty qualities at Jennie’s command were called into 
play, to keep back a grin, at the change in the Doctor’s face, 
as the source of the gift dawned on his perception. She 
looked very demure, and kept her saucy eyes down on her 
ruffled white apron, as she answered : 

“ Oh, it is not my gift. Mrs. Delgado is more generous 
* than I, or has more leisure. I have been too busy to come 
up before.” 

The fun was very close to the surface again, and she had to 
think of the most disgusting thing she knew of — which was 
assafoetida — to get back her gravity as she turned to leave the 
room. 

“You are going to stay a little while with me, are you 
not?” 

It was hard to tell whether Jennie’s eyebrows or red mouth 
looked most like interrogation points, so pursed were they 
with assumed dignity. 

“ Thank you, Doctor. I must help my mamma this morn- 
ing; she is making pies.” 

He wondered if Mrs. Brown had any fruit to put into those 
pies half as tempting as that round, red mouth. 


cupid’s darts, pierced hearts, etc. 271 

Kt Well, I know you won’t refuse to bring a knife and cut 
this. thing for me. I should never find my way into it unas- 
sisted.” 

“ Oh, yes, I will cut it for you.” She tripped down-stairs 
for the knife. 

“ What did he say, Jennie?” asked her mother, who was 
waiting at the foot of the stairs for the news from the upper 
regions, while she dried her hands on her apron. 

“ Sh ! His door is open ; you will have to go and see.” 

She thought of his lugubrious countenance and quivered 
with inward mirth ; but she got the knife and stopped in the 
parlor for a vase to put his flowers in. 

Mrs. Brown’s pies were not in condition just now to be 
left, so Jennie returned alone to the Doctor’s room, where he 
was standing over the basket with a curious expression on his 
face. 

“ Where shall I cut? It is so full of hearts, there is no 
place. ’T would be a pity to break them, wouldn’t it?” 
Just one little saucy glance upward, and her eyes are busy 
again over the problem before her. 

Dr. Conway was silent, but a shade of stern resolve was set- 
tling on his features. 

“Guess I’d better put the hearts in a safe place, out of 
danger,” continued Jennie. Taking them off the cake, and 
wrapping in a piece of the silk paper, she laid them up on 
the mantel. \ 

Oh, that human hearts could be wrapped in impervious cov- 
erings and laid out of harm’s way, when women are so tanta- 
lizingly charming as Jennie Brown was this morning ! 

There being no further difficulty in the way, she helped 
him to a mammoth slice of the cake, which, contrary to her 
mother’s prediction, was very good. 


272 


BOB DEAN. 


“Mrs. Delgado will not thank me for helping you eat it,” 
she said, cutting herself a piece. 

“Is not candy good with cake? Take a heart,” said he, 
offering the paper. 

“ What ! give me Mrs. Delgado’s sweethearts / ” 

“Yes, I give you what, perhaps, Mrs. Delgado calls her 
sweetheart ,” he answered, significantly, trying to get her to 
look at him ; but she would not. 

“ I will gladly give you all the plural ones and humbly offer 
you all of the singular one,” he continued, and his magnetic 
eyes succeeded in drawing hers up one instant, only to drop 
back to the piece of cake she was eating. 

“Oh, Dr. Conway, what a poor pun ! ” she answered, archly. 

“ The pun may be poor, but the subject is not. The offer- 
ing is rich.” 

“What offering? the candy?” 

“No; not the candy hearts; the humble, human heart, 
which is full of its wealth of love for you.” 

Bending down, he got another look into the soft black eyes, 
which she tried hard to make appear saucy and flippant, as 
was their wont. 

Not a word she spoke, for she felt the hour had come of 
which she had so fondly dreamed, and which, of late, she 
feared would never come to her. But the coquetry was so 
strong within her, that she was sorely tempted to throw him 
off in spite, because he had been so tardy, and had only spoken 
now in following her leader ; only she feared he would not 
speak it again, and she loved him too entirely to risk giving 
him up. So she kept silent, while she secretly despised her 
own tame spirit, which would suffer him to make love to her 
in so commonplace a manner. 

“Will you take it, Jennie?” 


cupid’s darts, pierced hearts, etc. 273 

His melodious voice made sweet music to her thumping 
heart ; at least his voice was not commonplace. But when 
he prisoned the little brown hand in his, cake and all, she 
mischievously asked : 

“ Is it broken, or cut, or in any way mutilated?” 

Dr. Conway could not tell how much purpose there might 
be in the question, and the doubt brought a blush to his 
cheeks ; but he answered with an even voice : 

“No; it is all yours now. Say; will you take it, little 
one?” 

His perfumed beard touched her burning left cheek, and 
her heart beat so it nearly choked her. 

“Jennie ! ” 

“ Here I am, mamma ! What is it ? Come on up ! ” 

She flew from his side to the railing of the stairs, up which 
her mother was coming, with both hands full of a tray of 
glasses and a wine decanter. 

Away from him, where he could not hear her wild heart- 
throbs, nor feel her thrill under his touch, she looked back at 
him one instant, with as much of her love in her eyes as she 
cared to have him see. 

When she left him, with his question unanswered, he bit 
his lip in anger ; but when he read the purport of her back- 
ward glance, he was satisfied, and received Mrs. Brown and 
her libation with his accustomed grace. If it were possible, 
Dr. Conway looked handsomer than usual this morning. A 
slight paleness and languor sat well on his massive manhood. 
His fine eyes were full of expression, and his easy self-posses- 
sion excelled itself. The Doctor had made up his mind at 
last, and was much relieved that he could find himself so 
satisfied with his own decision — particularly, since that de- 

S 


274 


BOB DEAN. 


cision was one fraught with prospect of so much personal 
comfort, in the possession of Jennie and her fortune. 

“I think cake is a poor thing without wine,” said Mrs. 
Brown, putting down her decanter. 

“ Mrs. Delgado’s cake is not poor. Miss Jennie will bear 
testimony to that,” said he, stoutly. 4 4 Now we will all have 
to eat another piece, to see if your excellent wine can add any- 
thing to its merits.” 

“I don’t care to bolster up her work,” responded Mrs. 
Brown, tartly. 

“ You should not be uncharitable, my dear madam.” 

Mrs. Brown could not understand why he should be so 
elated over his present, and wondered in her mind if he really 
was so fond of cake as to act like a. boy, because he had a 
whole, big one at once. It could not be he was delighted 
because Mrs. Delgado had sent it, for he certainly always 
seemed bored at mention of her name. She resolved he should 
not be without cake any more, while he stayed in her house ; 
for if there was any one thing which gave her unalloyed pleas- 
ure, it was to furnish people with what they loved to eat, and 
to see them eat it. She turned to leave the Doctor and Jennie 
as soon as she had finished her slice, saying: 

“ Leave the wine here, Jennie, while the cake lasts.” 

“I see you insinuate that it does improve the cake. I 
believe I agree with you, too. But I beg you will let it all 
go down-stairs, and serve it out to me in Q. S., as the drug- 
gists say, lest I enact the part of Greedy Harry,. in juvenile 
lore — all but the hearts — I’ll keep them,” he added in a 
lower tone to Jennie, who was now left alone with him again. 

“I thought they were mine,” she answered, as she looked 
at the red wine in her glass, willing to bring back the subject 
her mother’s coming had interrupted. 


cupid’s darts, pierced hearts, etc. 275 


“ So they are ; but you and yours are mine, now and for- 
ever.” 

What he did to her, which made her velvet cheeks as red 
as the wine, we leave you to guess. Jennie was taken by 
storm, or perhaps she would not have submitted — perhaps, I 
say, for she loved him very much. 

Now he drew a chair up for her, and another very near for 
himself, and said : 

“ Sit here a little while, my child; I want to talk to you 
about some things.” 

In that talk he made a tolerable free confession, and a fair 
case for himself. He did tell her most of the truth about 
Agnes Vinson and Buck, because he believed she already 
suspected it ; and, in not trying to shield himself, took the 
advantage of throwing himself on her mercy. Indeed, by his 
account, he had done rather a chivalrous thing in concealing 
the true cause of his wound, since, the real facts divulged, 
would have dragged before the public the name of a mis- 
guided and silly, but honest young girl, with whom it had 
been his misfortune to have unconsciously gotten into an 
entanglement. 

About Mary Lipscomb he was more reticent. This was the 
substance of his statement: He had been charmed with his 
winning little Jennie since the first time his eyes had drank in 
the lustre of hers. But when he became acquainted with 
Mary, he was, for a time, fascinated by her pure beauty — daz- 
zling, but cold, compared to his ruby love — and he wavered 
in his regard for his precious little gem, his very own now. 
Not until confined to his solitary sick-room, from which he 
could hear the patter of her fairy feet tripping about the house, 
and her bird-like voice making music for all save himself 
poor prisoner to his own unwariness — not till then did he 


2 ?6 


BOB DEAN. 


realize how entirely his future happiness lay in her hands; how 
wholly he loved her, and only her — loved her so utterly that 
all of earth’s fortune he craved now was to have her his for- 
ever. Here he perpetrated that same deed again, which again 
deepened the already deep color of her olive cheeks ; but he 
said not a word about the thirty thousand dollars which were 
to come with her. 

This fulsome flattery, delivered in an ordinary manner, by 
an ordinary man, would have disgusted piquant, keen-sighted, 
aesthetic Jennie ; but with the full power of rich voice, toned 
to the deepest feeling, dark eyes burning down into hers, 
thrilling hand clasping hers, and that magnificent beard 
sweeping her shoulder, how could she help drinking it in 
and being filled with bliss? What cared she for his faults? 
He loved her, and he was grand. 

And did she believe him? Partly, yes. She still held 
opinion that there had been more between him and Mary 
than he had caused to appear, and she was not altogether 
satisfied about that letter yet ; but she was c6nvinced that he 
loved herself best now , and that was all' she cared for. She 
did not propose to lay bare all her past flirtations and affairs of 
the heart to him, and she should not complain if he kept 
some passages of the “ gone-by ” in the dark. 

On the whole she was tolerably well satisfied, and very full 
of bliss, as she came down stairs with the tray of glasses and 
decanter, followed by the Doctor, carrying his mutilated cake, 
minus the hearts. 

He declared he would be immured in that den no longer. 
The fact was, that he had already stayed there three days 
more than there was a shadow of necessity for ; his purpose 
in so doing being partly to bring Jennie to him, and partly 
a natural shyness to meet the inmates of the house assembled 


IN THE LIGHT. 


277 


in a body. But now that he had made up his mind as to the 
future, and had carried his point, he was no longer a waif, 
tossed about on the sea of uncertainty and buffeted by every 
man’s opinion, but his very, old, assuming, handsome self — 
the irresistible Dr. Duval Conway, and he came forth to be 
made much of — a delectable creature to pet. 

Jennie showed him into the sitting-room, where her mother, 
Mrs. Dean, and Bob were, and herself slipped off into the 
darkened parlor, to enjoy her cry on the cushion of her 
favorite rocking-chair. She could not tell what she wanted 
to cry for ; but whenever anything unusual happened to her 
individually, she never felt just right until she got her “good 
cry. ’ ’ 

For one instant, it flashed over her mind how false he was 
at heart, and could be to her, but she put the thought away, 
murmuring the words of her favorite song : 

“ I know not, I ask not, if guilt ’s in that heart, 

I know but that I love thee, whatever thou art.” 

And then she took her cry. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

IN THE LIGHT. 

M RS. Brown’s sitting-room is as cheery as it can be to- 
night, Friday night, the last of the waning year. 

Mr. Brown and Dr. Conway are smoking and talking of 
local matters. They seem to be on excellent terms, and we 
take it for granted that the momentous question has been pro- 
24 


BOB DEAN. 


278 

pounded, and has met a favorable answer. Remember, the 
Doctor has always been a favorite with Jennie’s father, and 
now that the latter lias learned the Doctor’s accident was not 
caused by carelessness (which a man who worked with ma- 
chinery is bound to condemn as a heinous crime), but was 
only the result of a little spirited “ fun,” he has fully restored 
the victim to favor, and he smokes and talks business with 
him quite as if he were already a member of the family. 

Mrs. Dean is teaching Jennie a new stitch in crochet, and 
their talk is technical. 

Bob is entertaining Mrs. Brown, who, as usual, is knitting. 

“ Do you like having so many people in your house, Mrs. 
Brown ? ” he asked. 

“Having so many people in my house? What do you 
mean? ” she exclaimed, for Bob never asked questions at ran- 
dom, and she was puzzling her mind to find the purport of 
this one. 

“ I mean just what I said,” he answered. “ For if you do 
like to have them, and will be complaisant to my arrangement, 
I purpose to keep mother here for two months longer.” 

Jennie stopped her work to listen, while Mrs.. Dean smil- 
ingly awaited the conclusion. 

“Oh, you mean that! Well, if she is the ‘ people,’ I do 
like it. We will all be delighted to have her stay.” 

“ Thank you, most heartily. I don’t think she is as strong 
as she used to be,” his gray eyes rested fondly on her gentle 
face a moment; “and I don’t want her to work this winter 
and spring.” 

“I think you will have to work to keep her idle;” and 
kind Mrs. Brown nodded her head wisely. 

“ Oh, I intend keeping her busy pleasing me. If neces- 
sary, I ’ll ‘ be a boy again,’ and have her take care of me.” 


IN THE LIGHT. 


279 

“And she will pull your little shoes off, and rub your little 
feet warm, as she used to do,” suggested Jennie. 

Mrs. Dean wondered, while all eyes were turned on Bob’s 
big boots, and the laugh was hilarious. 

Mr. Brown and Dr. Conway were curious to know the joke, 
but no one volunteered an explanation. 

In an instant Jennie wished she had done so, for her father 
looked about for a measure of retaliation. 

“What are you doing with all that yarn, Jinse? Goin’ 
to knit socks? ” 

“ No, sir. I am going to crochet me a shawl like this one 
of Mrs. Dean’s.” 

“ Better be a piecin’ you up quilts. In time o’ my raisin’, 
when a gal wanted to marry, she always had a good lot o’ 
quilts ready.” 

Mrs. Dean and Bob looked wide-eyed curiosity, Mrs. Brown ^ 
and the Doctor stolid unconsciousness, while Jennie only 
looked very red. Mr. Brown laughed dryly, saying : 

“ Humph ! I come mighty nigh a-lettin’ the cat out o’ the 
wallet. But I reckin I can have my laugh, too.” 

Bob came to Jennie’s relief by proposing that she go with 
him into the parlor and have some music. 

Dr. Conway’s smooth, white brow was. corrugated into a 
very perceptible frown at the proposition, but neither Bob 
nor Jennie paid any heed to him. The latter, though she 
promised herself to him, had by no means, either expressly 
or tacitly, included her will in the bargain. In fact, just 
now, as she noted that majestic scowl, she said to herself : 

“If he thinks to have me afraid of him, or his humors, he 
has several things to learn yet.” 

Never in her life had she looked prettier than when, with 
the rose still dyeing her cheeks, and the spirit, uncurbed, 


28 o 


BOB DEAN. 


dancing in her black eyes, she made her lover a low courtesy 
as she passed out of the door Bob Dean was holding open for 
her. 

“So it is all arranged?” said Bob, as he opened the piano 
for Jennie, standing by, her face a perfect study, with its 
conflicting emotions. 

“What all arranged? I don’t understand you.” 

“Hadn’t you better tell me all about it, Miss Jennie? 
You have not forgotten our ‘paction,’ have you?” 

“ No, I haven’t forgotten. I don’t care if I do tell you. 
Yes, it is all arranged.” Blushing anew, she stopped and 
looked up at him, when she saw the merriment was all gone 
from his friendly face, and only commiseration written 
thereon. “ Are n’t you going to congratulate me ? You are 
a nice confidante !” 

With an effort he banished the gravity, saying gently: 

“ I hope you will be very happy, little friend ; but I think 
he is the party to be congratulated.” 

“And not I ? For shame ! So ungallant ! Take care ; I 
shall be his champion if you assail him.” 

“I would not assail him, Miss Jennie. Nevertheless,. I 
cannot help saying I wish he were more worthy of you.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Dean, I know as well as you how wicked he has 
been lately. I suppose you know it too, and mean that, for 
you always know everything; he told me all about it.” 

Bob looked surprised, but she went on : 

“But he regrets it as much as any one could. I know he 
is not good ; neither am I ; but we love each other, and will 
try to help each other to be more true in the future than we 
have been in the past.” 

“And may God help you both, my friend,” said Bob, 
fervently. 


IN THE LIGHT. 


28l 


“ Amen ! ” whispered Jennie, her tears falling fast. 

Bob pressed her hand and continued : 

“ Look to Him for your help, Miss Jennie, and not to your 
love; for though ’tis said ‘ Love renders women discreet,’ 
yet it may sadly mislead you sometimes.” 

* “ I will — I do — I know love for him will not keep me right ; 
it comes nearer making me do wrong.” She lowered her 
voice almost to a whisper, and in broken utterance finished 
her sentence: “ While I thought — he loved — Mary Lipscomb 
— best — I felt so desperate — I could have done — any wicked 
thing — to win him back.” 

Bob was silent a moment, and grave again, remembering 
the duplicity of the false man to whom she had given her 
warm, young heart. He breathed heavily as he spoke : 

“ I am glad it was not necessary, and that you were spared 
the pain of remembering it; but — ” he weighed his words 
carefully — “the sin of your purpose is as dark as if it had 
been executed. I hope you are in earnest, Miss Jennie, 
when you say you trust in God for your help. The time will 
come, my friend, when you will be in sore need of His 
strength and comfort, and if you trust Him now, He will not 
fail you then.” 

“I know — I have known and felt it for a long time — that 
I needed other strength than my own — but I have put the 
thought away and would not look at it, and just went on having 
a good time. But when I found he did love me best, I was 
so thankful and glad, I promised my life to God if He would 
only show me how to please Him, and would teach me how 
to lead the Doctor — to Him, too.” 

The last under her breath, and the light in her young face 
was a gleam from heaven. 

“ God bless you, little sister ! ” 

24* 


282 


BOB DEAN. 


Bob’s voice was as hearty as was the hand-clasp of fellow- 
ship he gave her, seeing she had passed “ into the Light.” 

“ You will not forget how much help I need ? ” she asked 
timidly. 

“ I will not forget to ask for you,” he said, answering her 
unspoken wish. 

A sudden interruption on the opening of the door — 

“ We did n’t hear any music, and came to see what you two 
had done with it,” said Mrs. Brown, ushering in Mrs. Dean 
and the Doctor. The latter had so manifestly disapproved 
of the continued silence in the parlor, that Mrs. Brown, to 
avoid unpleasant consequences, had suggested this movement, 
which her husband favored, saying those who wanted to sit 
up might go into the parlor, for he wanted to go to bed. 

Mrs. Brown did not understand Dr. Conway as well as her 
daughter did. Jennie knew that to keep his jealousy on the 
qui vivi f, was the surest device to bring into a steady glow the 
fickle flame of his passion — that he tired early of those things 
it gave him no trouble to have. Besides, it was not in her to 
yield to tyranny, and she intended to compel his respect by 
her independence. 

If the truth were confessed, the Doctor was a trifling bit 
afraid of his high-spirited little sweetheart; and she was wise 
enough to know it, and to hold her advantage. 

Bob now lit the lamp, for he and Jennie had been talking 
with only the flame of the oak-wood fire for light. 

“ We were having a nice time, if we were not making 
music,” said he, laughing. 

But now they did devote themselves to the “discoursing 
of sweet sounds,” and the evening sped merrily. 

When the early hours had passed, and each of the cordial 
group had retired, we find Bob Dean seated, as we saw him 


N THE LIGHT. 


283 


once before, alone by his fireside, with arms folded across 
his broad chest, and sober thought written on his Saxon brow. 
He felt that the pieces had been changed on the chess-board 
of his life, and he wanted to take a look at the situation and 
his bearings. 

While he regretted Jennie’s bonds to one whom he regarded 
as utterly lacking in the elements of true manhood, and while 
he petitioned Heaven to protect her young life from the 
blight of selfishness, yet he could not but realize that he was 
immensely relieved to have Dr. Conway, at last, bound by 
fetters which public opinion, his only mentor, would not suffer 
him to sever. 

Bound to some one, any one, but Mary Lipscomb. His 
heart beat high when he remembered there was no longer any 
obstacle to his wooing her, with all the power of his surging 
love. Did he hope to win her ? Certainly he did. So does 
every man who loves. While the heart throbs with adoration 
for one dear being, there is the hope — it may be a secret hope — 
that its idol will be won. When hope is utterly dead, love 
is buried — sometimes without dying, but shut in its grave all 
the same. 

But Bob meant to be very wise. He would not be precipi- 
tate, for now he could afford to wait for her wounded spirit 
to recover its health, and its natural hunger for love — a thing 
every pure woman’s heart will do, in time. A rare light 
rested on his honest face, as he dreamed of that coming time, 
and how he would step in to fill the craving, if God willed. 

So rapt was he with the sweet vision, that he did not hear 
his mother come in, nor recognize her presence, until her lips 
were pressed upon the curls on his forehead. 

“ Precious mother !” 

Enfolded in his arms, he draws her down on his lap. 


284 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Bob ! I know what is in your mind ! It is in your face, 
too. I am so glad I can stay here with you now.” 

“ Mrs. Brown is very kind ; she has always been so to me.” 

“ I am afraid she is not satisfied about Jennie’s engage- 
ment. It is neither love, nor admiration, that is in her eyes 
when she looks at Dr. Conway.” 

“She knows him. But Jennie has always had her own 
way, and it would be useless to oppose her in this. She loves 
the man with all her heart.” 

“ Poor child ! What is before her, none can tell.” 

“ God will take care of her ; she says she has given Him 
her heart.” 

“ That is good, anyway. And now, Bob, what shall we do 
in the two months to come ? ” 

“Until Spring lectures? Take care of and enjoy each 
other, and — ” he stopped without finishing his sentence. 

“And Mary? ” she added for him. 

He smiled, and laying his head back, shut his eyes, while 
he drew her nearer — perhaps he was dreaming it was another 
woman’s form he held against his heart. 

“Don’t set your heart too much on her, darling son. It 
may be you are not to have her after all.” 

“ I can’t help it, mother; it is too late to try now. If a 
blow like th^t should come, I hope my manhood is strong 
enough to meet it ; but I shall not spoil the next two months 
in getting ready for it.” 

“ And after the two months ? ” 

“I have not thought much about the after,” he said, smil- 
ing, “ except that I shall go to lectures, and you will go with 
me. God willing, we will never be separated again, until 
one of us goes home.” 

“ Have you told any one of the change in your fortune ? ” 


TWO PICTURES. 


285 


“ No ; I would prefer no one here should know of it.” 

“ You are not afraid it would have any influence on Mary’s 
feelings? ” Mrs. Dean’s tone was almost indignant. 

“ I have never thought of such a thing. But it might on 
some others — Mrs. Delgado, for instance.” 

“Oh,' Bob!” 

“No, let us say nothing about the money, mother, but go 
quietly on at work ; I at my school, and you in doing what- 
ever God puts into your hands ; but principally in trying to 
build up your strength.” 

He stroked her little thin hand gently, until she spoke again. 

“I am learning to be glad of the money, son; you have 
never, in your life, known what it was to have more than just 
enough.” 

“ We will try and do with it as father would have done, if 
he had not been wronged.” 

After a long, sweet silence she went for her Bible, and, lay- 
ing it on his knee, took a seat near. He opened and read : 

“ ‘He that dwelleth in the secret places of the Most High 
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty;’ ” and on to 
the end of the ninety-first Psalm. 

Hand in hand they bowed, while his full, sweet voice went 
up in thanksgiving and prayer. - 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

TWO PICTURES. 

4 4 T WISH Mrs. Lipscomb and Mary would come and spend 
1 the day with us to-day,” said Mrs. Brown, at the 
breakfast-table next morning. “ I’ve a great mind to send 


286 


BOB DEAN. 


the buggy round for them. I don’t believe it would hurt 
Mrs. Lipscomb one bit to eat New Year’s dinner with us to- 
day.” 

“That is a good idea,” assented Bob. “ Please send me 
with the buggy.” 

“And I will go along to see that they come,” added 
Jennie. 

“And I to bring you back,” said Dr. Conway, who was 
too intent upon salting his eggs to show anybody his eyes. 

“ No, you may stay here to welcome the triumphal pro- 
cession. Mr. Dean and I are able to execute the capture, if 
it is feasible,” said Jennie, positively. 

“We are so very captivating,” added Bob. 

“And what shall I do?” inquired Mrs. Dean, humbly. 

“You may help me make the salads and custard for din- 
ner,” said Mrs. Brown. 

“And I shall kiss Miss Mary when she comes,” put in 
Mr. Brown. “Wonder if any body would like to swap jobs 
with me, hey? Ki ! ki ! ki ! ” 

Bob Dean’s face was not cool under the suggestion, while 
Dr. Conway’s was a study ; and Jennie studied it, too. 

“What time shall we start, Miss Jennie?” asked Bob. 

“ Oh, pretty soon. I ’ve several little things to do first.” 

“ I am at your service when you are ready.” 

“All right.” 

This, by ears polite, considered a slang phrase, was a favor- 
ite one in that young lady’s vocabulary. 

The plan so expeditiously arranged to have the designated 
company to dinner, was considered by each member of the 
breakfast-table assemblage, Mr. Brown perhaps excepted, as 
an event of no little moment ; but by each viewed in a pecu- 
liar and rather personal light. 


TWO PICTURES. 


287 


As soon as the thought was suggested by Mrs. Brown, they 
all understood that it had been already well weighed and 
decided, only remaining to be executed. To dispose of the 
events of every-day life in this summary ‘manner was her 
habit, and her friends knew that, though only mentioned as a 
passing idea, nothing was left for them but to find the most 
pleasant way to carry it out. 

When the others had left the room, Jennie went to her 
mother’s side. Mrs. Brown was making an exhaustive sur- 
vey of her well-stored sweetmeat pantry, with the view of 
deciding between currant- and apple-jelly as a sauce for her 
turkey. 

“ Mamma, is it a good idea to have Mary come so soon? 
Will it be pleasant and easy?” 

She is pouting, and her big eyes look anxious ; altogether 
unlike the Jennie who, five minutes ago, was so heartily con- 
curring in the plans for the day. 

“Good idea? Why not? Humph! that apple-jelly is 
rather dark.” She thrusts the end of her little finger into 
the jar, and carries a sample to her mouth. “ But it tastes 
good, though.” 

“Well, you know, mamma — the Doctor — maybe he — or 
she — won’t feel easy.” 

“ Don’t see the point. Besides, he ’s got to see her some 
time; why not to-day? I am not going to let his likes or 
dislikes keep my old friends out of my house. Jennie, would 
you have currant or apple?” 

“ Currant, I think, by all means. But that is not what I 
mean, mamma; it is not his dislike I am thinking about — ” 

“ Tut ! tut ! don’t you be uneasy. Anybody with eyes in 
his head needn’t want to see anything prettier than you are 
this week. Anyway, I am sure that Mary knows all about 


288 


BOB DEAN. 


that Agnes Vinson scrape, and how he got shot, too. I know 
it from the way she and Mrs. Lipscomb looked, when it was 
mentioned before them the other day. I suppose Laura lias 
told them.” 

“Oh, mamma! what would I not give if that thing had 
never happened. Nobody but us will ever see it in its true 
light, and he will be blamed so much more than he deserves.” 

“I don’t know so well about that. Everybody has a dif- 
ferent idea of the code of honor. He is considerably whipped 
under it, and a heap easier to manage than if it had n’t have 
happened.” 

Jennie was not satisfied. Her loyal heart was beginning to 
yearn to have her lover honored by others ; though, in truth, 
she knew there was little enough in him to honor, except his 
princely person. Yet, while she realized the truth, she could 
not help anticipating the time when her husband shpuld be 
esteemed as a nobleman among men. Poor little woman ! 
flippant and vain and selfish, yet with the mainspring of 
womanly love beginning to move the machinery of her being. 
Poor little Jennie ! worshipping her gilded image, made in 
the similitude of a very god, but lacking the attribute of a 
soul. Will she be able to winnow, through these growing 
impulses, any sound wheat from the great sheaf of chaff that 
he is? and, it being sown, live to see it bring forth even a 
scanty harvest of noble thought and deeds? Or, will there 
be only rag-weed and thistle forever- in the garden of her 
love? God only knows. Poor, poor Jennie ! 

Bob and his mother discuss the subject up-stairs. She is 
making his room particularly nice, because she intends having 
the honored guests pay them a visit up here, too ; and Bob’s 
room has the sunniest window and the best view. 

She brought him a splendid geranium in full bloom, when 


TWO PICTURES. 


289 


she came, and this is surrounded, on its rustic stand, by pots 
of great double-belled hyacinths, which perfume the air with 
their glory of blossoms. 

Such a change his room has had since her deft fingers have 
handled its contents ! She has a passion for working the 
monogram “ B. D. pillow-shams, doilies, splasher-tidies, 
rugs, and towels, tell the tale, whichever way you turn. This 
weakness of his mother’s is the only thing Bob has ever found 
in her which he does not approve. He feels that the con- 
stantly recurring B. D.’s take all the individuality out of him ; 
but she delights in them, and he tries hard not to show that 
he does not. Standing by the floral window, tapping on the 
pane, he asks: 

“Do you think she will come, mother?” 

“I don’t know — ” She paused and joined him at the 
window, plucking a sere leaf from the geranium. 

“I don’t believe she will. It will not be pleasant for her 
to meet Dr. Conway now.” 

“ But she will have to meet him some time, and procrasti- 
nating the unpleasant ordeal will not render it less painful, 
and I hope she will have wisdom enough to see that.” 

“ I wish I could help her to bear the unpleasantness.” 

“I think you are carrying your share,” she said with a 
slight laugh; then serious again, she added, “but you can 
help her by not seeing it is a shock.” 

“ Oh, yes, I understand ; but I tremble for her and pray for 
her.” 

“ Bob, Jennie is only half happy in her engagement. It 
would not be a strange thing if nothing ever came of it after 
all.” 

“ I place no faith in Dr. Conway’s constancy. If he found 
it suited his interest best, he would break his vows to her as 
25 T 


290 


BOB DEAN. 


easily as he flips the ash from his scented Havana. He does 
not love Jennie." 

A tap at the door-^ 

“I am ready, Mr. Dean." 

Jennie was brightness, coyness, and sweetness personified 
as she stood awaiting Bob’s exit, with fur turban fringed by 
her jetty curls, and short dress janty and perfect. Dr. Con- 
way, in his door opposite, surely thought so, Bob’s opinion 
to the contrary, and, stepping to her side, said : 

“ Sweet one, I ’ll give you this for a kiss.” 

He slipped a diamond ring on her finger, and, gathering 
her in his arms, pressed his bearded mouth to her dewy lips. 
She barely had time to right her dishevelled hat when Bob 
came out,, and, taking in the whole situation at a glance, dia- 
mond and all, said, with a knowing and friendly smile : 

“ Somebody is blooming sweetly this morning. I ’d wear 
fur on my head and jewels on my hand all the time, if I were 
you, Miss Jennie ; it makes you look so rosy. Doctor, are 
not you a little envious of our ride?” 

“I am in despair,” he answered, lifting the moustaches 
from his lip where Jennie’s kiss was still thrilling. 

“ Try to bear your lot like a man and a Roman,” said Bob ; 
and, taking the little hand so conscious of its new thraldom, 
he led her down-stairs and out to the buggy waiting at the 
gate. 

She is pulling a glove on the ringed hand, and looks very 
serious as they drive off ; and when Button has taken a round 
pace down the street she says, softly : 

“ Mr. Dean, do you think it possible for a very little thing, 
or person — who is little in every way, body and soul and 
mind — by constantly trying to get larger, and being very near 
to some other better and bigger thing, or person, to really 


TWO PICTURES. 29I 

develop and grow to be capable of greater thoughts and 
deeds than would naturally fit it at first? ” 

Bob pondered over her words a moment before he an- 
swered. 

“Whenever that thing — or person — let us say person, for 
convenience, Miss Jennie — has begun to think herself small, 
and to wish to grow larger, the growth has already begun.” 

She looked at him and drew a long breath, putting her 
gloved hand over her heart. 

“Sometimes I feel how — I mean that person feels” — a 
twinkle in her arch eyes — “ as if she were expanding a tiny 
bit now — just the least imaginable bit, remember; and then 
she grows so narrow and suspicious and selfish — ugh ! ” She 
made a grimace, and struck the naughty heart a sharp blow. 

“You touch the key-note of the difficulty when you say 
‘ selfish/ for selfishness is the bane of all expansion of char- 
acter. If you will keep the head of that noxious weed cut 
down, suspicion, jealousy, and all the rest of that family of 
narrowness will die a natural death.” 

“But it is hard to keep down. Like the poison Night- 
shade, it grows in the dark ; while you are not thinking, it is 
spreading all over your garden, and the first thing you know 
it has scattered its seeds around it.” 

“Yes, but it grows only in the dark; and you must keep 
the night out of your spiritual garden, by letting the sun 
of faith and love shine there all the time. Keep planting 
good seeds, too, and diligently cherish the tender plants of 
grace that spring up, and eventually they will bear fruit meet 
for eternal life. 

She shook her head sadly, saying : 

“ Oh, but I am so little and weak — all of me but the selfish 
part.” 


292 


BOB DEAN. 


“ But the great Gardener, who has implanted these noble 
impulses in your heart, is strong to help.” 

A tearful, trusting face is turned to him ; but she makes no 
answer, so he continues : 

“Little friend, you have the greatest of human work before 
you now, a precious charge laid at your door — that of begin- 
ning a life of usefulness, of training a brave, buoyant, young 
heart to meet the Divine will. And another task, not less 
important, nor easier to accomplish — to lead in the heavenly 
way one who, all his life, has been straying afar from his 
Father’s house.” 

There is no time for Jennie to answer his words, for they 
are now at Mrs. Lipscomb’s gate. While Bob is fastening 
Button to the hitch-post, they see Mary go out of a side door, 
into the yard, with a great yellow bowl in her arms. She has 
not seen them, and calls, “ chick, chick, chick,” while a mul- 
titude of fowls scramble from every direction for the grain she 
scatters. Her dark morning wrapper and sun-bonnet are not 
able to make her homely, Bob thinks, as he and Jennie meet 
her surprised eyes. They do not go into the house, but join 
her and her feathered friends, and state their errand. She 
receives Mrs. Brown’s message with a startled, pained look; 
but after thinking a moment, says : 

“If mother wishes, we will go.” 

Bob is almost sorry of the arrangement, as he notes her 
ready acquiescence in what is evidently a plan of doubtful 
pleasure to her. They go together into the sitting-room, 
and Mary leaves them to bring her mother, who presently 
comes in. She is at first uncertain about the prudence of 
the step, but allows herself to be persuaded, and finally con- 
sents. 

“ I am so glad, Mrs. Lipscomb ! I am sure it will do you 


TWO PICTURES. 293 

no harm. You and Mr. Dean will go on in the buggy, and 
by-and-by Mary and I will walk on.” 

“ No, no, Miss Jennie,” protests Bob; “you or Miss Mary 
ride, or both, for there is room for three, and I will walk. 
Having loaded you up, I shall be there in time to assist in 
the descent of the august body, provided you move with the 
dignity and deliberation becoming the honorable embassy.” 

“ You forget that that was the part of the day’s ceremonies 
assigned to Dr. Conway. No, you were sent for Mrs. Lips- 
comb, and I to see that she came. It was your own sugges- 
tion, too,” — she dropped her voice, — “please let me have 
my way just this once.” 

So it is settled, and, when Mrs. Lipscomb is dressed a little 
more, he takes her out to the buggy. 

“Jennie, will you sit here a little while, or would you 
prefer to come to my room with me while I dress,” asked 
Mary. 

“ I will go with you if you do not mind.” 

Seated by the dressing-table, she watches Mary comb out 
the beautiful hair, which seems to caress the white fingers as 
they arrange its shining coils. She wishes she knew how to 
tell Mary of her engagement, with which her own heart is so 
full that she cannot forget it one instant. But it is difficult 
to do ; she feels that her keen perceptions are not in error in 
judging Mary to have been far from indifferent towards Dr. 
Conway ; but as to the extent or depth of her feeling she is 
totally ignorant, and Mary’s dignity and simplicity forbid the 
probe of jest or light question. Jennie honors Mary Lipscomb 
with an intense admiration, and with those newly-aroused 
impulses for a broader and better life, exalts her to a standard 
to be imitated. She has a feeling of having wronged her, 
too, in a measure, by winning entirely to herself a heart 
25* 


294 


BOB DEAN. 


which had been divided between them. No clear perception 
has she of the relation which has existed between the Doctor 
and her friend, but that it was of a confidential nature she 
feels sure, and she would like to know more. She ventures 
a leading remark. 

“ What a curious child that Laura Vinson is.” 

“Yes, to those who do not know her, she does seem „ 
strange; but she is very true and faithful to those she loves.” 

“ She is as devoted to you as a spaniel to its master. When 
you sent that letter to Dr. Conway, last week, do you believe 
she would not let a soul in the house touch it until she put it 
into his own hands? ” 

Mary turned quickly from her to the closet to get her dress, 
where, with her back towards her guest, she took down and 
replaced several articles; but when, after a moment, she spoke, 
her voice was quiet and non-committal. 

“Yes, I told her to give it to him, herself. It was impor- 
tant he should have it without delay. Jennie, shall I wear 
my black cashmere or this maroon suit ? * * 

“ You always look best in black, I think.” 

“I know I feel better dressed in it. Has # the Doctor re- 
covered sufficiently to leave his room ? ’ ’ 

No one could have surmised from her tone that the ques- 
tion was one of moment to her. 

“Oh, yes, he came down-stairs yesterday, looking hand- 
some and more interesting than ever.” 

“That is hard to conceive,” said Mary, smiling. “Well, 

I believe I am ready, except to see Laura a moment.” 

Left alone, Jennie is deep in thought, with her gloved dia- 
mond pressed against her lips. 

“I don’t believe she cares for him. I’ve a mind to tell 
her, and have her sympathy and confidence and help.” 


TWO PICTURES. 


295 


She drew off her left glove, and, when Mary returned, ex- 
hibited the glittering jewel under pretext of waving the curls 
on her forehead. It caught the eye of her friend immedi- 
ately, who asked : 

“ Why, a New Year’s gift? You did not tell me about it. 
Your papa is so generous; it is beautiful.” 

. She took the soft brown hand in hers to examine. With 
crimson cheeks Jennie raised shy eyes to her face and mur- 
mured : 

“Papa didn’t give it to me. It is my engagement-ring; 
he put it there this morning.” 

“Who, Jennie? Not Mr. Dean?” A sharp pain of dis- 
appointment struck her like a shock. 

“Mr. Dean! Oh, Mary, no! Of course not; he — Dr. 
Conway, I mean. Why, don’t you know? ” 

‘ ‘ Dr. Conway / Is it possible ? ’ ’ 

A keener, sharper shock now. Could it be possible he had 
found comfort already? had transferred to another his un- 
changing (?) love in less than a week from the time she de- 
clined it ? Surely her idol had been less than clay, mere stub- 
ble of the field, fickle as well as false. 

There is no disappointment so full of chagrin to the merely 
human part of human nature as an easily- transferred affection, 
though that affection be a rejected one. We are all a little 
dog-in-the-mangerish about our love affairs, and are gratified 
at having a cast-off suitor remain disconsolate at least a decent 
while after the rupture of his bondage to us. 

Jennie looked wonderingly at her friend’s startled eyes, 
and, laying her pretty head on her bosom, said : 

“Aren’t you glad for me? Oh, he is so handsome, so 
grand, and so devoted to me. He is half wild with jealousy 
if I am out of his sight.” 


296 


BOB DEAN. 


She put up her childish lips for a kiss, but Mary could not 
find it in her heart to meet them with her own. She pressed 
Jennie to her bosom and stroked back her curls in silence until 
tears came to the big black eyes. 

“You won’t say you are glad,” she whispered. “You 
are just like Mr. Dean, who does not think Doctor is good 
enough for me ; but oh, Mary, he is a great deal fonder and 
better than you all know. You will see by-and-by. You 
will see what he will be.” 

“ Bless your trusting heart, dearest Jennie, and may you be 
very happy, child, as happy as you deserve.” 

She kissed her now ; then they went out and down the 
street together, and Jennie poured out her full heart to her, 
not noticing that Mary gave few answers and little heed to 
her words. 

Mary was probing her own heart, and measuring Jennie’s 
lover by the standard she had once erected for her own. 
Could Dr. Conway measure to it ? Could he have been one 
and the same with it ? Nay, verily — never, save in her own 
imagination. On the whole, she was glad Jennie had told 
her this morning, for the revelation enabled her to tear away 
from her heart the last coil of bondage, and step forth a free 
woman ; but not unscathed, for the spirit was sore and smart- 
ing under the print of the chain. 

She did not fear to meet him, now. 

Her new strength was to be tested immediately, for the 
Doctor and Mrs. Dean met them on the porch. Mary kissed * 
the latter, and dextrously taking her side furthest from the 
Doctor, bowed to him, and congratulated him on his recovery. 

He thanked her, and inquired how she had passed the holi- 
days; and then Jennie took her to her chamber, to remove 
her hat and shawl and find Mrs. Lipscomb, whom Mrs. Brown 
had put to bed on a lounge. 


TWO PICTURES. 


297 


The morning passed, as such pleasant occasions usually do, 
and the dinner was bounteous and elegant. After coffee was 
served, and they were about to leave the dining-room, Mrs. 
Dean begged that they would all pass the afternoon in her 
rooms. So they went up-stairs. 

Now, if ever a sunny, south room looked cheery, the very 
presence of comfort and content pervading, Bob Dean’s room 
had that look this New Year’s afternoon. And how the talk 
did run ! The flowers came in for a share at first ; and, being 
under discussion, it was fitting their owner should display his 
generosity. He cut a bunch of scarlet geranium and some 
fragrant leaves from another plant for Jennie, and assayed to 
dress up her curls therewith ; but these being short, the flowers 
fell out. Then Bob went to a drawer, and taking out a piece 
of red ribbon — they all watching in silence — cutoff a desirable 
length, and made, what the Scotch would call, a “ snood” 
for the jetty locks ; which answered the end sought, by con- 
fining the posy. 

Dr. Conway was an interested observer. 

Bob, having suited himself, led Jennie to the mirror to 
note the effect, and standing behind her, made a low bow to 
her laughing image in the glass. 

She lifted her hand to replace a tumbled curl, and the brill- 
iant flashed into sight. Beyond her reflection and Bob’s 
was the Doctor’s in the background, and their eyes met as 
the diamond gleamed. She was startled to see that the look 
they gave her was not love, so much as something else. Was 
it jealousy, or was it only a calculating measurement of the 
value of the stone, and its effect on her person ? Quick as 
thought she faced round and shot him a glance charged with 
indignation — he should not dare look at her in that way ! 
Oh ! she was mistaken — ’t was the distortion produced by the 


BOB DEAN. 


298 

mirror; lie was smiling and fond, and she had misjudged 
him. 

Now Bob cuts some flowers for Mary. First, a cluster of 
sea-shell tinted hyacinth bells for her throat, then a fairy-like 
spray of begonia for her dark hair. He did not offer to put 
them in place as he had Jennie’s, but handed them to her 
with a look that, if it meant anything, plainly said they were 
not half fair enough for her. 

Then they fell to talking about the pictures, of which there 
are not a few in the room. One there is of peculiar beauty. 
Its centre foreground is a road, winding under huge and hoary 
live-oaks, from whose branches pend sombre banners of Span- 
ish moss ; to the left is a low white fence, with ample gate, 
enclosing a lawn, which, for greenness and great trees and 
broad repose, might pertain to an English manor ; nor would 
the mansion-house beyond do violence to the thought, for 
its tall columns and spacious verandas are in keeping with 
that effect. But the fairest view is on the right ; here, a stone 
fence, half its length fallen down, the rest brown and lichen- 
grown, margins a wild ravine, in whose rugged sides the hardy 
mountain-cedar and chittim-wood find a scanty footing amid 
the ferns and bramble. Through a rift in the green is an en- 
chanting glimpse of a fair city’s suburbs; the gleaming spire 
of Gothic church on the greensward, far distant, in the midst 
of picturesque residences, and a few buildings of more impos- 
ing magnitude, make up a scene which the observer would say 
is too fair to be copied from nature, without the addenda of 
an artist’s day-dream. 

So thought Mary Lipscomb, for, after studying it a while, 
she sighed, and said : 

“ It is a pity that so beautiful a view cannot be seen at one 
time, in reality. Where do you suppose the scene is intended 
to be laid, Mr. Dean? Somewhere in Europe?” 


TWO PICTURES. 


299 


He turned to his mother, and smiled before answering: 

“ No, Miss Mary; not in Europe. And you can really see 
all of that, and much more, for which there was no room on 
the canvas, by making less than two days’ journey.” 

“Is it copied from nature, then? and is there such lovely 
nature in this country?” 

“It is a very true picture, not in the least exaggerated, of 
one of our beautiful views, within a few minutes’ drive of 
Austin.” 

“You don’t say so, Dean?” said the Doctor, getting up 
to examine it more closely. “ I don’t remember ever to have 
seen anything like that about Austin.” 

“Then you never drove out beyond the old military insti- 
tute, by Governor Pease’s residence, which this house on the 
left represents. The picture is taken from a point just a little 
to the south of the residence, and, as I said, does not more 
than do justice to nature, which here assumes one of her most 
coquettish and enchanting phases.” 

“Who painted the picture, Mr. Dean?” asked Jennie. 

“A lady friend of mine, in Austin, who is quite a fair 
artist,” he answered, with a slight change of color. 

“Ha! is it the same you told me of before?” asked Dr. 
Conway. “Beatrice — something. What have you done with 
that picture of her you had here ? Come, let the ladies see her ! ” 

Bob did not answer, and evidently had no intention of 
gratifying the Doctor, until Mary and Jennie added their 
solicitations, when he brought it and put it in the latter’s 
hand, turning to take a view from the window. 

They all gathered around it, and Dr. Conway repeated 
what Bob had told him about it on the former occasion, add- 
ing that he half-way believed the fair artist had limned her 
image on Bob’s heart, as well as on the bit of canvas. 


300 


BOB DEAN. 


Bob really blushed, but he laughed and disclaimed any 
affection more tender than such a very warm friendship as 
would naturally grow between persons of like taste and liter- 
ary fancies, who are a good deal together in their work. 

“She has such an interesting face,” said Mary, thought- 
fully regarding the portrait. 

“ She is very interesting herself,” said Mrs. Dean ; “ there 
is nothing, whatever, common-place or ordinary about her. ” 

Now, Mary turned that thoughtful gaze on Bob, and her 
eyes, of themselves, made him blush again. Dr. Conway 
looked at her and nodded significantly. 

Mary was almost confirmed in her opinion that he had al- 
ready selected his wife, and she weighed the matter in her 
mind all the rest of the day. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 

O N the Monday morning after the events of the last chap- 
ter, the town of C laid aside its holiday air, and 

put on its working apparel. 

Bob Dean trod the path leading to his work, with uplifted 
head and expanded chest, humming a tune. Life had taken 
a brighter shade since his last walk over this road. He re- 
members with exultation how gloomy his thoughts were that 
Friday afternoon. Now his mother is with him, to leave him 
no more*. Then he could not even surmise how this end was 
to be attained, except by many days of hard labor and patient 
waiting. Now he has a little fortune of his own ; then he 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 3OI 


feared to buy a new book or a piece of music, lest the price 
be needed for a matter of necessity. 

That troublesome affair of Agnes Vinson has been brought 
to a comparatively satisfactory state ; he has been the instru- 
ment of good to the Lord’s poor, and is thankful for that. 
And Dr. Conway is engaged to be married to Jennie ; this 
is not altogether satisfactory, but perhaps, under the circum- 
stances, the best thing for all parties. And Mary Lipscomb 
is free ! This is the burden, the chorus to the thanksgiving 
hymn his buoyant heart is ever unconsciously chanting — 
“ Mary is free ! ” 

The boys came down the path to meet him, and his happy 
eyes and heartsome voice divide joy with them. 

Mary goes to work, too, this morning. Her sky is not so 
bright as his, though she feels that she ought to be very grate- 
ful, for is not her mother well again ? and her music-class is 
increased, and she has two friends to cheer and love her, 
whom she did not know a year ago. 

But she has no lover now ; no love dreams to dream ; no 
rosy future to build and wait for, and the fair, bright world 
looks very empty. It must forever be thus — to teach, make 
money to live on, use it, take care of her mother — and that 
is all. No, not quite all ; for she meant to study this year 
and the coming ones, and grow wiser every day. ? 

There were so many things she did not know ; she never 
conversed with Mr. Dean or his mother without being con- 
scious of the shallowness of her education. Not that they 
were given to pedantry, or even knew she felt any lack, but 
some allusion would indicate a thought or a theme she could 
hardly follow. She had read but a few books, but these she 
had mastered, and she intended to get more and read them. 

Buck McQuillan sets to work this Monday morning to clear 
26 


302 


BOB DEAN. 


a particularly rough piece of mesquite prairie. The thorny 
branches pierce his flesh, and the gnarled and flinty roots foil 
his lusty strength many times over ; but he takes delight in 
the difficulty of his labor, and crushes through the barriers, 
one by one, conquering a space as each hour passes by. He 
is too matter-of-fact to think of comparing his mesquite field 
to the difficulties which beset his moral path, and to dream of 
finally mastering these as he is doing that, but he is conscious 
that there is no solace like labor for a “ mind diseased.” So 
he digs and chops, saying : 

“’Tain’t no use grievin’ 'bout it — I reckin ’twan’t in- 
tended fur me to have Aggie, an’ I ’ll never have nobody else. 
But I don’t blame her, mind, and I ’ll love her all the same.” 

And Agnes crouched over the dirty hearth, and moped and 
longed to die, while her aunt scolded and toiled for bread for 
the family. 

At Mrs. Brown’s there was a very momentous matter under 
consideration, namely, the preparing for Jennie’s wedding. 
Dr. Conway insisted that it should be consummated as soon as 
possible — perhaps he feared to trust his fickle will under 
delay, perhaps he yearned to be handling those thousands of 
dollars. Jennie made no objection, and Mrs. Brown con- 
sidered that, the sooner over, the safer. So mother and 
daughter were holding a weighty council of ways and means, 
which resulted in their repairing to Mrs. Dean’s room, with a 
purpose to divulge. 

That lady, standing beside her bed, whereon were spread 
lengths of white muslin and paper patterns, was humming a 
merry little tune for company. 

“Are you busy, Mrs. Dean?” asked Mrs. Brown, settling 
her buxom self in a rocking chair. 

“Oh, not very; I must do something to employ myself, so 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND T HE ARTIST. 303 

I concluded to cut out and make a particularly nice set of 
shirts for Bob. See what a beautiful piece of shirting.” 

“You did not get it here? ” 

“Oh, no; I brought it with me in my trunk. But why do 
you ask me if I am busy? Is there anything that I can do for 
you ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes, madam; that is what we came up for just now, to 
ask you. I want to talk with you, and get your advice about 
Jennie’s trousseau .” 

“ Ah ! ” The word was full of interest, but she waited for 
something more. 

“ The stock of goods here is so poor, and high-priced at 
that — and not much better at Rockdale — we thought it would 
be a good idea to go to Austin for the things we want.” 

“A very good idea ! There are some elegant stocks to be 
seen there ; almost anything you could wish for the occasion, 
I think.” 

“ But how to get them ? Now, I ’ll tell you what I would 
like. You take Jennie, and go over to Austin, and select, 
buy, and have some of the work done there. I will pay all 
expenses, of course, and be a thousand times thankful to you 
besides; for indeed this is no little undertaking for me.” 

“ Oh, it would be only a pleasure for me to do it for you, 
if you are willing to trust my judgment. As to the expenses, 
that is a small matter, for I am at home there, you know, and 
I must go before long, any way, for I left my business un- 
settled and must attend to it. I am not very experienced in 
the line of bridal outfits, but I can lend Jennie some assist- 
ance, and take her to where she can get all needful advice.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Dean, I thank you a thousand times,” said 
Jennie, springing from the window-garden to kiss her. 

“Not at all, my child. Don’t you know that buying 


304 


BOB DEAN. 


pretty wedding-clothes is a labor dear to the heart of every 
woman,” said Mrs. Dean, stroking Jennie’s smooth cheek 
lovingly. 

“Jennie is to have all she wants, nice, and you need not 
be stinted in the price. The Doctor intends to take a pretty 
long trip, — perhaps go to Virginia to see his old friends 
before they return, — and pa and I want her to make a good 
appearance. ’ * 

“ She is sure to do that, no matter what she wears,” said 
Mrs. Dean, smiling. 

“ Thanks !” Jennie swept .her a bow. “ Yet you cannot 
deny that nice clothes are an improvement even to the best- 
looking girls.” 

They fall to discussing busily, time, material, and quantity, 
styles, and other elements that form items in a wedding outfit. 

“There is one thing I wish, which I fear I shall not be 
able to have,” said Jennie, by-and-by. 

“What is that? You shall have it, if it can be gotten,” 
answered her mother. 

“ Money won’t get it, though. I want Mary Lipscomb to 
go with us too.” 

“The very idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Dean. “She needs 
the change and rest, and would enjoy the trip so much.” 

“ Well, maybe she will go. We will run around after 
dinner and ask her.” 

This they did; and, Mary being out, had time to win Mrs. 
Lipscomb over to their side before her return, by representing 
that she was looking pale and careworn, and would doubtless 
be much benefited by the excursion. When the subject was 
presented to Mary, she looked wistful over it a moment, 
showing what a pleasure it would be; then pronounced it 
“ impossible.” 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 305 

“Why impossible, my lady? ” queried Jennie. 

“ I could not leave mother.” 

“ Oh, yes, I should get along nicely with Laura.” 

“I will have Bob come over for company whenever she 
wants him,” said Mrs. Dean. 

“The expense — I cannot afford it now.” 

“I propose to pay the expense of this excursion, and if I 
offer you a ticket, you might reciprocate by the favor of your 
company,” said Mrs. Brown, nodding her head. 

“Besides,” said Mrs. Dean, “the expense will be trifling. 
Mrs. Brown will send us over to Rockdale in a hack; the 
fare to Austin is less than three dollars, and when we get 
there we will go to my boarding-house. My rooms are fur- 
nished just like I left them, and Mrs. Goff, the landlady, is a 
dear friend of mine, and will be delighted to have us with 
her.” 

“ Don’t say no, please, Mary,” plead Jennie. 

“She will go,” said Mrs. Lipscomb. “I wish you to, 
daughter. ’ ’ 

Mary looked doubtful, but said no more, whereupon the 
three lady guests thanked her, taking her consent for granted. 

So it was settled, and they were to go the next day but 
one. 

The west side of Congress Avenue, city of Austin, was a 
panorama of active life on the afternoon of the sixth of 
January, eighteen hundred and seventy-nine. Though the 
weather was chill and the heavens grey and cheerless, many 
ladies, fur-clad and busy, were to be seen among the brisk 
pedestrians. 

Proceeding up the street, with numerous small packages in 

their arms, were our three friends from C . They had 

been improving the morning hours with merchants and mil- 
26 * U 


306 


BOB DEAN. 


liners and dressmakers; now, having had their heavy pack- 
ages sent up before, were, at three o’clock p. m., going home 
to their dinner, weary, but happy. Their nearest way was 
through the capitol grounds. 

“ Can’t we go up those steps and get a nice view ? ” asked 
Mary, pointing to the broad flight approaching the capitol 
building. 

“Oh, yes,” responded Mrs. Dean, turning that way. 

“But, dear me, we are so tired,” was Jennie’s plaint. 
“ My feet and back ache already, and our arms are too full 
of bundles to climb gracefully.” 

“ That is so. We will wait until we are coming down in 
the morning, and then we can go all through the house — the 
Senate and Representative halls, and the offices. I see they 
are cleaning up, preparing for the Legislature, which convenes 
next month. We can get a beautiful view of the avenue and 
bridge at the foot from the vestibule up there, where the 
Alamo monument stands.” 

A tall, slight lady, closely veiled, approaches them as they 
stand talking, and is about to pass, when she turns, exclaim- 
ing, doubtfully : 

“ Is it Mrs. Dean ? ” 

As she speaks she raises her gray silk veil, exposing a white 
face which echoed the question : 

“Yes, it is I, Leone. How are you? I am so glad to 
meet you.” She kisses her and turns to the girls. “ Permit 
me to present my friends, Miss Brown and Miss Lipscomb, 
Miss Rubioli.” 

Miss Rubioli acknowledges with a bow, and asks : 

“ But when did you come? I heard you were not coming 
back so soon ; and did Mr. Bob come? ” 

“I arrived yesterday, but am going back in a few days. 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 30 7 

Bob is in C . We, that is, I and these young ladies, are 

down on a shopping expedition.” 

“Where are you stopping? Can’t you come home with 
me? Of course you will.” 

“ We are at my old boarding-place, Mrs. D. Goff’s, north 
of the capitol. It will not be convenient for us to go with 
you to-day, but you must come up to see me. We are just 
going up to dinner now.” 

“ Then I will no longer detain you, but will come up after 
a little. I ’ve a hundred questions to ask you. Good-bye.” 

“ I shall try to answer them; but you must put them one at 
a time, which you never do. Be sure to come.” 

“ She is a very interesting young lady, and I am glad we 
met her,” said Mrs. Dean, when they had gone a few steps. * 

“ She is very like some one I have seen before,” said Mary, 
thoughtfully. 

A little later they had finished their dinner, and were resting 
in easy-chairs about the cheerful fire, opening packages of 
“lovely things,” and discussing their day’s work, and the 
comparative beauty of pearl silk and silver-gray, duchesse lace 
and fringe, when there came a double knock, and the hostess 
showed in Miss Rubioli. Mrs. Dean removed her wraps and 
seated her by the fire. 

Now, Mary, looking at her with her hat removed, remem- 
bers where she has seen the face before. She turns to look at 
Jennie, who catches her thought and remembers, too, for she 
softly whispers, “Beatrice.” 

Yes; it was she — and very like the picture, too. The 
same intense, deep eyes, Italian features, and sensitive mouth. 
She is very pale — almost sallow, and every muscle of her face 
speaks of alertness, amounting to a degree of unrest, which is 
curiously at variance with a manner of immovable repose. 


308 


BOB DEAN. 


She looks, indeed, all the while, as if she were verily a picture 
taken from a vehement life, where the face only was alive. 

“And how do you like to stay at C ; or, indeed, any- 

where away from here?” she asked, her restless eyes roving 
all over the room and its inmates, and resting, with an artist’s 
appreciation of beauty in form and color, on the two girls 
opposite her, surrounded as they were with the pretty things 
they had been buying, and which there had been no time to 
put out of sight. Neither of them ever looked so pretty as, 
when near together, they each set off and complimented the 
other’s contrasting charms. And the work on which they 
were now engaged, enhanced, by its enchanting nature, those 
very charms ; for what woman, not jealous-hearted, but has 
her heart stirred to its depths by the sight and handling of 
wedding-clothes — such beautiful wedding-clothes, bought re- 
gardless of price, with only taste and fitness to be consid- 
ered. 

“I like C very much, indeed,” said Mrs. Dean, an- 

swering Miss Rubioli’s question. “I should be an ingrate 
not to, for every one has bestowed unparalleled kindness on 
me; and then Bob is there,” she added, with a smile. 

A responsive light leaped into Miss Rubioli’s eyes, which 
might have meant that any one should be happy where Bob 
Dean was — or it might have meant something else ; but Mary 
thought the former. 

“Still, it is not Austin; and you know we are like the 
Bostonians, in thinking any place out of our city must bring 
a comparative disappointment.” 

“ I did not know the Austin people were so clannish,” said 
Mary, smiling. 

“We don’t talk much about it before strangers, for it is not 
the most polite thing to do ; but people who have ever lived 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 3O9 

here cannot be entirely satisfied anywhere else, permanently. 
They always hope to come back, if they never get to attain it.” 

“ Now I remember, Mrs. Dean, that you once spoke of an 
earnest desire to have your home here soon again,” said 
Mary ; and they all laughed. 

“Of course she does,” Miss Rubioli answered, while she 
watched the beautiful curves and dimples playing around 
Mary’s mouth. 

“ I suppose I must plead guilty,” said Mrs. Dean. “The 
place is very dear to me. I came here a happy bride, suffered 
as a lonely, wronged widow, worked and rejoiced as a blessed 
mother, and have been loved and helped by the kindest peo- 
ple in the world. I ought to love the place.” 

“ And you would prefer it if none of that were true, just for 
the place itself,” interrupted her friend. 

“To what special feature do you attribute its charms?” 
asked Jennie, who had been a silent but interested listener. 

“ That I cannot tell. Good society, freedom from conven- 
tionality, beauty of scenery, fine drives, cosmopolitan customs, 
are some of the things ; but, most of all, perhaps, that it is the 
capitol city of the great State whose every breath of air wafts 
freedom on its wings.” 

While speaking she sat motionless, with thin, pale hands 
clasped in her lap, making no gestures to emphasize her words, 
as another would have done. But her face was vivacity per- 
sonified, the sensitive nostrils and dilated eyes betraying her 
enthusiasm in the subject. 

“ Of the beauty of scenery here I have heard Mrs. and Mr. 
Dean speak until I am quite eager to enjoy it,” said Mary. 
“ I have seen some pretty views already, while we were about 
our business, and Mrs. Dean has promised us to see the out- 
look from the capitol hill, and perhaps a walk to the bridge 


310 BOB DEAN. 

over the river, if we get through our work in time, to-mor- 
row. ’ ’ 

“ I should like the pleasure of showing some of those beau- 
ties to you, Miss Lipscomb. May I not have your company 
for a drive in my phaeton ? I would extend the offer to you 
all, but our carriage is not at home now. However, I can 
send for it after to-morrow,” said Miss Rubioli, quietly. 

“That is good, Mary. I am so much obliged to you, 
Leone; I take it as a great personal favor. Jennie and I 
will be at the dressmaker’s the better part of to-morrow. We 
go home next day, you know ; but we have no sort of use for 
Mary, and I so much want her to drive about and enjoy her- 
self.” 

“Then I shall come for her to-morrow, and keep her all 
day. I want you all should see my studio,” she added, softly. 

Mrs. Dean smiled, and, turning to the girls, explained : 

“ You must know that Leone is an artist, and makes most 
beautiful pictures, too. By-the-by, do you remember the one 
I showed you in my room the other day ? the one you thought 
could not be found in nature? ’T is her work.” 

“Yes,” said Jennie; “we know. She is ‘Beatrice.’ ” 

The lady flushed a dark red and shot a startled look from 
her fierce eyes, then dropping them, said in a moved tone : 

“ Did he show them that?" 

Mrs. Dean explained how Bob had come to show her pic- 
ture as well as she could, but the artist seemed much embar- 
rassed. 

“Does Mr. Dean enjoy himself where he is living?” she 
asked, after a pause ; “ but he is happy anywhere.” 

“Oh, yes, he is as happy as ever. We have both a pleas- 
ant home with Mrs. Brown, the mother of Miss Jennie there; 
and she is as kind as possible.” 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 3 1 1 


“Is there much gayety in C ? But Mr. Dean does 

not care for balls and such.” She was looking at Jennie’s 
white gloves and slippers lying on the table. 

“No, he does not attend balls. But these are not fora 
ball,” Mrs. Dean added, following her glance and perceiving 
her thought. “Jennie, may I tell? Thanks! They are for 
a wedding which is to transpire soon.” 

“Indeed! Allow me to congratulate you, Miss Brown, 
for I perceive, by your very becoming blushes, who is one of 
the happy parties. Am I acquainted with the other?” 

The question trembled on her lips. 

“ No, I suppose not, though he sometimes comes to Austin. 
And it is well for your peace of mind that you are not, since 
he is mortgaged to Jennie, here.” 

“Is he so fascinating? There will be a charming pair 
indeed, then.” 

Much to Jennie’s relief, she rose to depart, repeating the 
engagement for the morning. 

She came, according to promise, and took Mary to see 
many places and things. Once during the morning they 
stopped to rest the horse and look around on the summit of 
a hill, where the new Tillotson Institute now stands, south- 
east of, and overlooking, the fair city. After resting in silence 
some moments, during which Mary drank in with delight the 
beauty of the picturesque scenery, Miss Rubioli said, softly : 

“The last time I was here Mr. Dean was with me.” 

Mary looked around quickly, a little startled by the words, 
for, be the truth known, she was just then thinking of Bob 
herself. Somehow the grandeur of nature always connected 
itself with him now. She surprised a secret in the tender 
eyes of her companion ere the latter had time or thought to 
banish the truth from their depths. 


312 


BOB DEAN. 


“ You are quite well acquainted with him, I believe?” asked 
Mary. 

“Yes; we have been a great deal together, in our walks 
and rides, and books and work.” 

For an instant, and perhaps for the first time in her life, 
Mary Lipscomb’s frank heart was stirred to a thrill of jealousy. 
Truly great was the privilege this woman enjoyed to be a 
partner in work and thought with Bob Dean ! To be able, 
through the culture of her mind, to measure thought with his 
thought, to talk of grand purposes to be sought and ends to 
be attained ! Could she ever reach such a height, how blessed 
she would be ! But she very humbly answered : 

“ I should think any one would be better for being a good 
deal with him. He is very good and noble, I think.” 

“ Do you know him well? ” her companion asked, searching 
her face with those hungry eyes. “ Excuse the question, but 
it is only what you just asked me, you know.” 

“And I return your answer in part. We have been much 
together in the sick-room, where his goodness endeared him 
to us all;” and she gave her the history of her mother’s 
illness, and the watching together during the dreary days and 
nights. 

The other listened eagerly to every word, noted every in- 
tonation of the sweet voice sounding his praise, and when she 
had finished, seemed about to ask a question, which she could 
never get uttered. After waiting a little for it, — for her lips 
had twice opened to speak, — Mary changed the subject, and 
when they went home his name had not been again men- 
tioned. 

In the afternoon, with Mrs. Dean and Jennie, Mary went 
to visit the artist’s studio. Miss Rubioli’s home seemed to 
the girls the perfection of grandeur and art. Such a residence 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 3 1 3 

and grounds they had read of, perhaps dreamed about, but 
never before seen. 

When announced, Miss Rubioli sent for them to be shown 
up to her study at once. This was a quaint, foreign-looking 
apartment on the west side of the house, with a view from 
the window of the cedar-clad hills and white cliffs beyond 
the river. 

She had many studies among her art-treasures, some her 
own, in various stages of completion, some the work of the 
masters. Among others, conspicuous on its easel yet, was a 
half-finished oil painting; another 4 4 Beatrice de Cenci,” into 
which she had evidently intended to bring her own linea- 
ments again, but changed and so cfisguised that perhaps our 
friends would not have thought of herself being the model, 
except for the chain of previous circumstances. When they 
turned in its direction she endeavored to divert their atten- 
tion from it, and presently threw a cloth over it. She had 
forgotten to do so before, when she had sent for them. There 
were several covered canvases in a corner. 

4 4 Have you finished your picture of ‘Old Damos’?” asked 
Mrs. Dean. 

“Yes; it is in the corner there. Just raise the cloth — oh, 
no ! not that — the next one ! ” and she sprang forward, with 
the agility of a cat, to rectify the mistake. But not in time 
to save from view the face behind the shielding cover. It 
was Bob Dean’s kind, true eyes and manly features that 
looked out at his astonished mother and her friends. 

“That is Mr. Bob, as I hope you are able to recognize 
from my poor efforts. He refused to give me a sitting, and 
I am only making it from memory ; and intend to astonish 
him with it, just for spite,” she exclaimed, having recovered 
27 


3 T 4 


BOB DEAN. 


her equanimity. She stepped back, to allow them to take a 
better view. 

Mary thought that the face must have been deeply imprinted 
on her memory, to have enabled her to reproduce it so true 
to life. 

Mrs. Dean looked tenderly at the dear eyes, but her own 
had a hint of surprise and pain in them. 

Miss Rubioli now uncovered the next picture, saying : 

* ‘ Here is Prof. Damos.” 

“ Oh,” cried Jennie, “ I saw him yesterday, on the street, 
carrying those papers in front of him. He appeared to be 
trying to read one of them, and was eating a green cucumber 
pickle !”• 

“I expect so,” said Mrs. Dean, laughing; “he generally 
is, when he can get one.” 

“Who is it, Miss Leone? How piteous he looks!” said 
Mary. 

“ He is our vagrant. You know nearly every city has its 
specialty in that line, and Austin will put hers against any 
other place for individuality. I am not certain that I have 
his history aright, but the version I had given me is this : 

“ He was once a learned professor in a German university, 
and received appointment to a chair of honor in the United 
States. He came on, expecting to bring his family after him, 
soon. But the ship in which they took passage never came 
to port, and in the fearful suspense of disappointed, but ever- 
recurring, hope, his reason was dethroned and he became the 
wreck we see him. How he came in this State, I know not ; 
but he was sent to the lunatic asylum here, and there kept 
until it was ascertained that he was entirely harmless, and, 
being very unhappy in confinement, was given the liberty of 
the streets. In the last letter received from his wife, she 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 3 1 5 

besought him to be careful of his health, and, exposed to a 
new and changeable climate, never to neglect putting on his 
overcoat when he went out. I suppose, after the manner of 
literary men, he was absent-minded. 

u The poor creature remembers enough to obey the tender 
injunction, and puts on all the coats he can get, regardless of 
whether the thermometer is at zero or ranging in the nineties. 
He is a — I had liked to have said a common beggar — but will 
say, very uncommon beggar on our streets now — pitiable in- 
deed — but harmless and amusing in his idiosyncrasies.” 

“ And the papers — why does he carry them ? ” 

“Poor heart! He is always expecting and hoping to see 
the arrival of the lost vessel which is to bring his dear ones 
to him. He gathers every one he can find, and, opening it out 
full size, adds it to the pile which he carries before him like a 
voluminous apron, until it drops away with age. He tramps 
all over town, occasionally soliciting that you ‘ give the pro- 
fessor a dime/ begging a pickle or a handful of damaged fruit, 
and halting in a convenient doorway, as you see him here, 
to read his news. Another peculiarity is that he puts forth 
his hand and touches every white object in his reach ; why, 
I cannot tell, unless it is suggestive to him of paper. Where 
he sleeps, or what substantial food he eats, no one knows. 
He usually meets with* kindness from all, though boys some- 
times annoy and anger him.” 

“ Poor thing ! ” said Mary, gazing at the picture. 

It represented a man of perhaps fifty years, low and heavy 
of build, with weather-beaten face, and ragged beard and 
hair. An old, wide hat, torn and limp ; spectacles over the 
faded, blood-shot eyes ; several long coats, with the shortest 
on the top, and his apron of newspapers held before his breast. 
Seated on a broad stone step, before the plate-glass doors of 


316 


BOB DEAN. 


an elegant banking-house, he was reading the topmost of his 
papers, which he held close to his eyes. 

“ He is always reading the shipping news,” said Mrs. Dean. 

The artist now replaces the cover over both pictures, and 
turns to go out. The talk about “ Crazy Damos ”* had di- 
verted attention from Bob’s portrait, but perhaps neither of 
the quartette had forgotten it, or Miss Rubioli’s shock at 
having it exposed to sight. 

“ And now come down to the parlor, and let me introduce 
papa to the young ladies. He will be delighted to see you, 
Mrs. Dean, for he is an ardent admirer of yours.” 

Much to the girl’s surprise, Mrs. Dean blushed painfully, 
and answered in some haste: 

“Thanks, dear Leone ; not to-day. I have yet one piece 
of business to attend to this afternoon, and must be going 
immediately. Will you not come to see us again before we 
leave ? ’ ’ 

“ When do you go? ” 

“To-morrow, at 9.30.” 

“ So soon ? Can you not stay a day longer?” 

“ Not this time.” 

“Then I will call after tea, to-night,” which she did, and 
going into the parlor, asked for Mrs. Dean only. 

After the latter had left the room, Jecinie said : 

“ Mary, do you know what I think?” 

“ Not about everything, puss. What do you think just now, 
for instance?” 

“Well, I just believe that girl is in love with Mr. Dean. 
I am nearly sure of it.” 

*The character of Crazy Damos is copied from life— name, person, and 
history, according to current version ; as we see him upon the streets of 
this city every day. — Author. 


SOME MORE PICTURES AND THE ARTIST. 317 

“I rather think so, too.” 

“ Isn’t she a curiosity? the strangest manner — so still, and 
yet so startling.” 

“ She is very interesting.” 

“ Does n’t she dress beautifully ? She must be very wealthy. 
What an elegant home ! and that phaeton and dappled -gray 
pony are the sweetest things I ever saw. I mean to have a 
turnout just like it;” and Jennie fell to building air-castles, 
while she patted her little feet on the hearth. 

I aril afraid that during the last four days she had not 
thought so much about growing at her heart, and keeping 
down the weeds of selfishness therein. But she is young and 
very pretty, and is buying her wedding-clothes, regardless of 
cost. Any woman can find excuse for her. 

Mary is musing, too — of the ride, and talk on the hill-top, 
the portraits in the studio, and the burning eyes of the artist 
lady; her cultivation, her beautiful conversation, her talent, 
her wealth and grandeur, and her love — for she is sure it is 
love — for Bob Dean. No wonder if he love her, too. She 
remembers how loth he was to show her picture that day in 
his room, or to talk about her. And yet there seemed to 
her to be a disparity between them ; something she could not 
define — as if their aims in life were different. 

Mary is a little homesick, to-night, and is glad she is going 
back to her mother to-morrow. But she is also glad she came. 
Oh, how she means to study to improve during this year ! 
It will take her a long time to learn as much as Miss Rubioli 
knows ; but even now Mr. Dean seems to enjoy her society, 
and perhaps in a short time she may find out a great deal 
about some of those things he has mentioned to her. He 
asked her a few days ago if she would like to learn the German 
language, and offered to teach her, and she had felt too timid 
27 * 


318 


BOB DEAN. 


to accept the offer. But to-day she bought the books, and 
intended to ask him for the proffered help. Miss Rubioli did 
not speak German ; she had said this morning she had no 
talent for language — hers all lay in painting. Mary knew she 
could never paint ; but she read Latin quite well already, and 
now meant to learn German. 

Thus musing, she fell asleep in her chair, to be awakened 
only by Mrs. Dean’s entrance, and her and Jennie’s laughter 
over her drowsiness. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


“too happy for anything.” 

OOK a here, Agnes, I think it ’s time v you was a be- 



J j ginnin’ to try to do something. There ain’t no 

rhyme nor reason in you, a settin’ here all day long, mopin’ 
jest because you was a fool and didn’t know when you was 
well off, while me and mine are a toilin’ and slavin’ to git 
something for us all to eat. Here it ’s nigh onto the last of 
January, and not the fust hand’s turn have you done to help 
since ma died. Trouble is one thing, and laziness is another.” 

“I don’t want to eat. You an’ the children are welcome 
to all there is, as fur as I am concerned, if you will just let me 
alone.” 

“ I ’ve heerd enough of lettin’ you alone, and you ’ve got 
to eat if you live; and the Lord knows you ain’t fitten to die, 
with your temper — always in the sulks. Besides, we altogether 
ain’t got money enough to give you a decent buryin’ ; so, if 
you are so bad off to die, you had better work a little fust.” 

The last thrust was too much for even Agnes’ stolid nature. 


“too happy for anything.” 319 

Her sleepy black eyes leaped into flame and anger stained her 
sallow cheeks as she answered her aunt, who was bustling 
about, emphasizing her caustic speech by banging into their 
places the pots and skillets she was washing. 

“ Well, what do you want me to do? I will try to yearn 
what I eat while I stay, and if I ’m in the way, I ’ll try to git 
outen it putty soon. I thought I ’d as much right in grand- 
ma’s house as you had.” 

“ Nobody ain’t a disputin’ your right in the house; all I 
ask is for you to help with the work. Me and my little chil- 
dren has to work mighty hard, and we are a gettin’ further 
behind all the time. The corn is out, and there ain’t more ’n 
enough meal for one more day. Miss Griffin, she told me 
last week if I ’d come there and wash for her and the mill- 
hands, she ’d let me have meal ’long till the new corn come 
in. The weather has been so bad all the week ther hain’t 
been no day fitten to wash till to-day, and it ’s not much bet- 
ter to-day, for it’s bitin’ cold. But this is Friday; still I 
don’t see how I can go to-day, for Uncle ’Manuel promised 
to come and kill the hogs for me by twelve. They ’re bound 
to be killed, for there ain’t no more corn to feed ’em.” 

“ Do you want me to go wash? ” Agnes’s tone was surly. 

“ I guess you will have to do it if it ’s done; and if-we don’t 
wash for her this week, she’ll git somebody else, and we’ll 
lose the chance. It is awful cold to go out, but you can wrap 
up and take Johnny to go ’long with you. I ’d go myself, but 
I don’t see how I can.” 

The widow’s temper was mollified, and her really kind heart 
shrank from exposing the girl to the bleak Norther which held 
sway out of doors. But stern want, which knew no choice, 
was driving her. 

The day was fiercely cold, but no rain fell. It had rained 


320 


BOB DEAN. 


or sleeted every previous day during that week and the pre- 
ceding, so that there had been no washing done at Mrs. 
Griffin’s, and the pile of muddy and grease-begrimed clothing 
was appalling to Agnes, as she toiled over the tub of seething 
suds. She was weak and prostrated by her long idleness and 
despondency, and already her breath was shortened by her 
walk of a mile. The water was hard, and had to be drawn 
from a well, deep, and exposed to the cruel wind. The shed 
under which she worked was closed in on the north only, and 
her wash-pot outside. Her little cousin, who had accom- 
panied her, was much too small to be of any assistance, and 
she had sent him to the kitchen to keep warm. Her back 
ached, and so did her heart, but thought was busy. She 
remembered that Dr. Conway had said she was handsome and 
graceful, and fit to be a lady with her own house and servants, 
and a carriage to ride in — she , who, standing here in the 
cold, was washing the dirty clothes of the mill-hands. The 
idea was too absurd to be pathetic — it was only ridiculous ! 
For the first time she was angry with the Doctor for saying 
such a thing, and then leaving her to such a life as this. 

Why she next thought of Buck’s home it is impossible to 
say. He had built a nice little box-house, on the far side of 
his father’s piece of land, next to her old home, for them to 
live in together. He gave as a reason for not wanting to 
make a home with his parents, that “ Aggie war n’t like other 
women, always in a streak of gab — she was mostly still like, 
and he wanted her to have a house of her own, where she 
could be quiet if she wanted to.” 

Her aunt’s little son had told her last night that there had 
a tenant moved into the house — a new-comer, whom Buck 
had hired to help him on the farm. He had a young wife 
and a sweet little baby, and a sister about grown, who was 


321 


“too happy for anything.” 

“ mighty peart lookin’.” And they were living in the house 
Buck had built for her, while she was here washing for bread. 

She had been there once last fall, before Dr. Conway began 
to come to see her grandmother, and she and Buck had selected 
the place for the garden and the cow-pen, and now, like as 
not, they would put them somewhere else ; and maybe they 
would cut down some of the elm trees she liked so well, for 
they grew on the very best cotton-ground. 

There was her own red cow and her calf, and last year’s 
heifer to start with, besides three head that Buck had ; and 
now, she reckoned hers would be given in along with her 
grandma’s, and that would be the last of them, for the estate 
was in debt, and only the homestead could be held, the stock 
having all been mortgaged. Her mare and colt would have 
to be turned out on the range, for the corn was out, and that 
would be the last of them , too. 

Somehow, she had not thought of all these things while 
she was at home sitting over the fire. Why could n’t she die, 
and be out of all this trouble ? She knew Buck’s folks felt 
hard towards her — and good right they had, too. He had 
never set eyes on her since he had come back, a good month 
now. Maybe he had forgotten her, as she had said he must; 
but the thought made her feel more lonely than ever. 

She went to the well for more water. The wind swept her 
scanty skirts away from her chilled ankles, and her wet hands 
were chapped and stiff. Buck had told her once that she 
should never draw herself a bucket of water, after she came 
to live with him, if he could help it. 

The well was very deep, the windlass heavy, and the bucket, 
half-way up,- seemed inclined to slip back ; she stopped to get 
her breath and choke back a sob — 

“ Let me take it out fur ye, Aggie ! ” 

V 


322 


BOB DEAN. 




She started back in fright, and had not another brawny- 
hand held the rope the bucket had surely gone back to the 
bottom. 

“ Thank you, Buck. I did n’t know you was here.” 

Her voice was husky, and she did not look at him. 

“ Neither did I know you was here, ’tell jest then, when I 
see you a tuggin’ at that are heavy bucket. I jest come to 
see Mr. Griffin about them steers of his’n. What you doin’ 
here ? ’ ’ 

“I ’m washin’ for Mrs. Griffin.” 

Her eyes were on the ground, and she swallowed a sob, 
that his kind tone had brought from under the surface, where 
her plenteous self-pity had deposited it with a shallow cover- 
ing of control. 

“It’s too cold for you to be out a washin’. No woman 
hain’t no business in this here wind. Does you have to do 
it ? ” his voice full of yearning pity. 

“I suppose so. We are out of meal, and Aunt Polly said 
I must come,” she answered, while her nervous fingers rolled 
up the corners of her shawl. 

“ Out of meal ! Why did n’t she send to our house? Look 
a-here, Aggie, I can’t stand this no longer. I ain’t a gwine 
to stand by and see you treated in no sich a way. I loves you 
as hard as I ever did, and I alius will, too; but if you can’t 
like me no more I won’t bother you with a seein’ of me, but 
you must ’low me to pervide for ye, for what I ’ve got is all 
your’n, and if you won’t make use of it, why I hain’t no 
more heart to work, and that’s all of it.” 

He licked his dry lips, and his red hands trembled on the 
edge of the freezing bucket, but he was insensible to the 
cold. 

“ You ’re too good to me, Buck. You always was, and I ’ve 


“too happy for anything.” 323 

treated you too mean, but I’m sorry,” and she covered her 
face with her apron and sobbed. 

“ Oh, Aggie, don’t cry. I don’t want to give you trouble, 
honey. I loves you too good for that.” 

“You are the only one who is good to me, since poor 
grandma’s gone. Everybody else has turned aginst me, and 
I reckin I deserve it.” 

“No, don’t say that, Aggie; you ain’t to blame one bit. 
Ah ! Aggie, if you only could forgit it all, and love me jest 
a little, like you useter, we could be so happy yit. I ’m the 
same ’sif nothin’ had happened — could you, honey — jist a 
little bit?” 

Buck’s great, true heart thumped like a “muffled drum” 
against his jeans coat. 

“ Oh, Buck, I ain’t wuth it. 1 ain’t fit for you to have — 
but-r-I — do — love you — better than I ever did before — for 
you are all the friend I ’ve got.” 

“ By jingo ! you don’t say so ; do you, Aggie ? I want to 
holler ! I’m the proudest man ever was — and will you have 
me, after all ? Oh , Aggie / ” 

When the bucket had been deposited on the bench under 
the wash-shed, he stopped and said sheepishly : 

“ Aggie, would you keer, honey, if I was to put my arm 
’round ye, a minute ? You know you said onct that ye didn’t 
want me to tech ye; but seems ’s if I ’ve had sich a aching 
here, for to feel your head against it,” and he laid his coarse, 
chapped hand on his heaving breast. 

The stolid woman was touched now, and laid her head on 
the true bosom which had loved and borne so much. 

The head was enveloped in a shabby old shawl, and her 
face was swollen and purple with cold ; the sacque she wore 
was greasy and ragged, but that made no matter between 


324 


BOB DEAN. 


them. She had found protection and tenderness, and his 
hungry heart was satisfied, while he murmured : 

“ Oh, Aggie ! Oh, honey ! I’m too happy for anything. 
The good Lord bless ye; and I don’t forgit to say thankee 
to Him, too.” 

The chilled hands were clasped, and the troubled hearts 
were as truly united as if they had been beating under broad- 
cloth and satin. 

The days have tripped along on busy feet, and now Feb- 
ruary is counting out his sands. 

It is evening, and we find our friends again assembled, as 
they so much love to do, in Mrs. Brown’s parlor. Mary and 
her mother are here, and Mr. Brown is at home, too, to-night. 
Fie has taken a drop to warm him up, and is merry therewith. 

“ Doc, do you remember that feller, Veed, we met at Max’s, 
last time we was down to Rockdale?” 

“The fellow who had inherited some money from an uncle 
or cousin? Yes; I remember him.” 

“ Should think you ought ter. He treated liberal all ’round. 
Well, what do you think the green done?” 

“ Can’t imagine.” 

“ Should think not. Well, I ’.11 tell you. He went in with 
’nother fool, and they put ’em up a skeeting-ranche. Veed, 
he had the money, and t’ other feller, he had experience in 
the business. Well, they soon skeeted out of all their money, 
and now Veed has got experience, too. Ki ! ki ! ” 

Dr. Conway and Bob joined heartily in the mirth, but the 
ladies did not get the point. 

“What does he mean, Bob?” asked Mrs. Dean. 

“A skating-rink,” said Bob, laughing. 

“Jinse! when you and the Doctor here start off in life 


“too happy for anything.” 325 

don’t you go a-skeetin’,” said Jennie’s father, taking a good 
whiff at his pipe. 

“ Papa ! ” plead Jennie, while they all laughed once more. 

Now, a heavy thump, thump, at the hall-door came to her 
relief. 

Mrs. Brown went out and brought in Buck McQuillan. 

He was embarrassed in the presence of the company, upon 
which he evidently had unwillingly intruded. Shuffling his 
feet and clearing his throat, he finally said : 

“Good-evenin’ all.” 

But he refused the seat Mrs. Brown offered him, and looked 
foolishly from one to another. As he met Dr. Conway’s eyes, 
he flushed darkly. The Doctor had arisen on Buck’s entrance, 
and now stood behind his chair, pale and expectant. Jennie, 
who had been on the other side of the room, glided to his 
side, and her face was white, too. Mary and Mrs. Lipscomb 
sat still, full of apprehension. Mr. Brown began to seethe 
with indignation ; when Bob came to the relief of all, by giv- 
ing the intruder his hand. 

“You had better have a seat and get warm, Buck. It is 
right cold out, to-night; isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir; it ’s putty cold — but I hain’t time to set down. 
I reckin — I ’d like a few words with you, Mr. Dean ; but — ” 
he looked doubtfully around. 

“ Come up to my room, Buck, and we can talk as much as 
you like, without interrupting our friends here.” 

He gave Buck a chair, and, when he had mended the fire 
in his room, laying his hand on the man’s shoulder, said : 

“And now, what can I do for you, my friend ? ” 

“Well, sir — ” he cleared his throat, and thrust his hands 
deep down into his pockets — “you see — er — well — t’other 
evening I happened to come up like with Aggie, and — er — 
28 


BOB DEAN. 


326 

we’ve fixed it all up betwixt us; and bein’ as you and your 
folks has been so friendly to us, I thought I ’d come an’ let 
ye know,” and he grinned, and took his hands out of his 
pockets. 

“Is that so? Well, Buck, I am rejoiced for you, and hope 
you will be as happy as two turtle-doves,” said Bob, shaking 
hands with him. 

“ Thankee, sir. I am ’bleeged to ye for your good wishes, 
and don’t no ways doubt ’bout bein’ happy, for I’ll be satis- 
fied jest to do for her, and see her set by. We thought — 
we’d have it — to come off — next Chewsday, and, if it ain’t 
axin’ too much, me and her would be oncommon proud if 
you and your ma, and Miss Mary and her ma, would come 
and see it done; ” he wriggled and grinned. 

“ I appreciate the invitation, Buck ; but — what hour will 
it take place? I am pretty well engaged for that day.” 

“Well, I telled Aggie I didn’t expect you would come — 
but it’ll be after dark, I s’pose — say ’bout candle-lighten — 
I b’lieve that ’s the right time to be married in ; but you see 
I don’t know ’bout these sort o’ things; and Aggie, she jest 
leaves me to have my way ’bout it all — but if any other time 
would suit you better, we will change it.” 

The eager look on the red, embarrassed face was ludicrous 
to see. 

“After dark? Well, that is the only time I could come; 
so it just suits me. I suppose you know, Buck, that Dr. Con- 
way is to be married on the same day, at three o’clock in the 
afternoon, to Miss Jennie Brown.” 

Bob spoke tenderly and with caution. It was unnecessary. 

“No, sir; I didn’t know. But it don’t make no matter 
to me now, what he does ; he ’s made us lots of trouble, but 
it ’s all over now, and I don’t bear him no grudge.” 


327 


“too happy for anything.” 

“That is right, my dear fellow! the true Christian spirit. 
If you and Agnes commence your life on those principles, and 
look ever to God, there is no doubt but you will have your 
share of happiness.” 

“Yes, sir. Thankee ! I s’ pose I may tell Aggie you will 
come, then? and the ladies? And, Mr. Dean, she told me 
to ax Miss Mary, if it war n’t too much trouble, would she 
come out to see her one day fust. She ’s got something on 
her mind she wants to say to her. I ’d be much obleeged 
if you would ax her.” 

The poor fellow was sorely perplexed over all these prelimi- 
naries. 

“If you will keep your seat a moment, Buck, I will go 
down and bring her up here, and then we can ask her.” 

“Well, sir — I’m kinder ’shamed like — but I suppose I ’d 
know what to tell Aggie ’bout it then.” 

When Bob reentered the parlor -he was smiling, but there 
was in his face a touched look, incomprehensible to the some- 
what stiff people who were awaiting his return almost in 
silence, for conversation had refused to be free any longer. 

“ Mother, if our friends will excuse you, I should like your 
company a little while, and, Miss Mary, you may come too, 
if you please.” 

“ What can you be up to now, Bob? ” answered his mother, 
drawing her shawl about her, preparatory to traversing the 
cold halls and stairway. 

“ I will tell you, presently. Miss Mary, will you come ? ” 

“ I don’t understand. Have you a conspiracy ? ” 

“Something of the kind — or Cupid has.” 

What a blunder ! Jennie caught at the bait. 

“I suppose you and Cupid can do no execution without a 
victim. Mary, I would n’t go one step ! ” 


328 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Forewarned is forearmed,” answered Mary, putting her 
hand into Mrs. Dean’s; but her cheeks rivalled a damask 
rose. 

“I believe there is no other prey left, Miss Jennie,” re- 
torted Bob. 

That shot told, and Jennie was silenced. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


HYMENEAL. 



HE hymeneal Tuesday dawned bright and soft, as with 


1 the breath, of coming spring, though it was yet but 
the second week in February. 

Enterprising ploughmen were turning up the brown and 
pregnant earth, while knavish crows were cawing from bud- 
ding tree-tops, congratulating themselves upon the early prep- 
aration for their own nefarious plunder. 

It was a fitting day in which young hearts should mate. 

Mary Lipscomb was in her front yard, seeking flowers. 
Her winter Spirea was in bounteous bloom, and Narcissus and 
Jonquil blossoms perfumed the air with their musky odor. 

She wanted to send Jennie a liberal offering, and yet save 
Agnes a little bouquet. Her heart was very full as she coupled 
the two names in her mind. Poor Agnes ! Poor Jennie ! 
Yes, poor Jennie. Yet why? Ah, misguided, impulsive 
Jennie, who would to-day give herself to one wholly un- 
worthy the treasure of a fond woman’s heart. But she was 
not blind to his real character — she understood and forgave 


HYMENEAL. 


329 


the wrong, and had the courage, for love’s sake, to throw her 
own little self into the balance with his good qualities, if, 
mayhap, they might be made to outweigh the bad. Would 
that the sacrifice might not be in vain. 

As for Agnes, she was doing the best that remained for her. 
In telling to Mary that “something on her mind ” she had 
confessed that the memory of her whilom lover, “who was 
enough like one of them princes you read about,” was still, 
and would ever remain enshrined in her heart of hearts, as a 
sweet dream of the “might-have-been;” but she gave her 
every-day love and duty to Buck, who had anchored her 
affection by his unswerving fidelity and goodness. She would 
do alL she could to be a good wife to him, and make him 
happy. And she wanted Mary to ask Miss Jennie not to hold 
the past against her, and to believe that there had never been 
any criminal relation between her and Dr. Conway. 

Of course, her sentiments were not expressed in this lan- 
guage, but it was full of pathos, and took this form in Mary’s 
mind ; and Mary’s heart was prayerful for the peace and well- 
doing of the honest and humble couple, who would this day 
link their lives in one. 

Her garden was now shorn of its wealth, and her little 
basket full of the spoils ; and she had turned to go into the 
house, when Clarence Vaughn called her, from the gate, to 
receive a message from his mother ; the purport of which was, 
that his lesson be postponed until the following day, as she 
needed his services. Mary gladly acquiesced, while she 
shrewdly suspected the request to have been made only that 
she herself might be left free to attend the weddings. 

“Isn’t it a beautiful day, Clarence?” said Mary, leaning 
on the gate, inhaling the sweet air, along with the aroma of 
her flowers. 

28* 


330 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Yes ’m ; it is lovely ; ” but he was looking at the roses in 
Mary’s cheeks, and the light in her beautiful eyes, ignoring 
the charms of nature abroad. 

“ And a happy one I hope it will be,” added she, drawing 
in a deep breath. 

“Yes’m; to those who are happy — I am not;” and he 
sighed dolefully. 

“ Why, Clarence ! what possible cause can you have to 
render you unhappy ? ’ ’ 

“ Miss Mary, it is only three weeks after this one till school 
is out ; then Mr. Dean is going away. I count the days over 
and over, for I feel like I shall never have another such a 
friend.” 

Yes, that was true; nor was this the first time she had 
thought of it. She had counted the days, too, and felt that 
never again should she have such a friend as he had been, 
^he knew now whence had come a certain cadence of sad- 
ness, that pervaded her enjoyment of the loveliness about her. 

“ We will all miss him, sadly; and his mother, too, whom 
we have learned to love so much. But I hope they will come 
back again sometime ; ” her voice was very dreary. 

“ Miss Mary, may I tell you something? I am sure you do 
not approve of gossip — neither do I ; but I think, perhaps, 
you would like to know something that I know.” 

“Certainly, Clarence; if it is no harm,” answered Mary, 
puzzled. 

“ There is no harm in the information ; but the way in which 
it was acquired is not so innocent.” The lad blushed, but 
continued: “You know Mr. Dean takes his dinner at the 
school-house with us boys. Well, yesterday, after we were 
all done eating, he was sitting at his desk reading, when Steve 
Laster asked him to show him how to work an example. It 


HYMENEAL. 


331 


was a hard one, and Mr. Dean had helped me on it in the 
morning, and I suppose he wanted to see if I remembered his 
explanations ; anyway, he sent Steve to me, and he did not 
like it. Mr. Dean saw that, but just went on with his read- 
ing, taking no notice of him. After a little, he seemed to be 
thinking of something very pleasant, for he smiled, and wrote 
a while on a slip of paper, and his face was a sight, for the 
pride and joy in it. Just then a gentleman rode up, and 
called him, and he slipped the paper in the book, and laid it 
on his desk ; but when he opened the door, the wind caught 
the leaves of the book and fluttered them, and the paper blew 
out, and came right to our feet. Steve picked it up, and — he 
is a sneak anyhow — he read the writing before he put it back 
in the book, which he shut up, so that Mr. Dean did not 
know it had been opened. Well, coming on home, he told 
me the writing was a love-letter to a lady named Beatrice, 
and that Mr. Dean had told her in it that he had inherited^ 
a big fortune, and was all impatience to claim her as his bride, 
which he would do as soon as possible. I know Steve had no 
business to read the letter, nor to tell me, and perhaps I ought 
not to be repeating it, but I know you like him as well as I, 
and will be glad to know he is so happy. Sometimes I have 
thought he was not, he would look so sad at times — but not 
lately. I am certain he is fond of, and proud of, the lady, 
for his face showed that when he was writing the letter. But 
I am afraid it only takes him further from us. I once hoped 
he might find a wife here;” and the boy, laughing, glanced 
significantly at Mary, while he stopped for breath. 

“ Oh, Clarence, what nonsense ! I am glad he is so happy,” 
she answered, but she did not feel entirely honest in saying it. 
Yet, why should she not be glad to know that he was engaged 
to the woman he loved ? 


332 


BOB DEAN. 


She had believed for some time that he and Miss Rubioli 
were lovers ; but she had almost forgotten it during this last 
happy month. When she first returned from Austin, she had 
frequently mentioned the lady to him, in alluding to things 
and scenes there, but he always met the name with some hesi- 
tation — timidity, it seemed to her, mingled with a measure 
of pain. So she allowed the subject to drop into silence, and 
since, they had been so happy, so oblivious in their mutual 
enjoyment of each other’s society. 

The German lessons had progressed grandly, and many 
another bit of learning had been smuggled in, under the 
opportunity set for them, besides confidential talks about the 
ambitious future — her hopes of increased knowledge and cul- 
ture. And he had not told her that she knew enough, and 
was the perfection of culture already, as some other men would 
have done, but encouraged her to strive upward in these things, 
adding that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wis- 
dom ” — that all greatness that was at the sacrifice of spiritual 
growth was poison to the soul, and would turn into bitterness. 
They were wholly agreed on these topics, but she found her- 
self constantly looking to him for strength and encouragement. 
Never before had religion seemed so beautiful, so applicable 
to every-day work. 

Then his hopes and plans came in for discussion. He, too, 
was ambitious — to attain the perfection in his profession ; and 
she believed he would do it. So they had really been helping 
each other — “ measuring thought to thought,” as she had once 
said, in envious mind, about Miss Rubioli. 

All this while they had never stepped on to the bounds of 
the sacred domain of love. Mary had grown ashamed of her 
“first great passion” — pitiable plight for a proud, sensible 
woman. 


HYMENEAL. 


333 


And Bob breathed not a word about love. 

Mary had taken up an idea that Miss Rubioli’s wealth 
created a barrier between her and Bob, which his pride would 
not overstep ; that he would wait until he had mastered his 
profession, and acquired money before seeking her hand. 
And now it seemed he had inherited a fortune, and the bar- 
rier was laid down ; he only waited to complete his obligation 
to the school trustees, when he would fly to his love. 

Ah ! what would she do for her friend, when he was gone ? 
Who could ever understand her thoughts and appreciate her 
needs as he had done ? How would her mother do without 
the dear man to whom she owed her life, and for whose coun- 
sel she had learned to wait now, in all matters whether of 
small or. of grave importance? 

Would he be happy with his 11 Beatrice ” ? 

Something there was in the lady which constantly baffled 
and disappointed her — would he be able to understand, and 
could he ever find rest under those searching, consuming 
eyes ? 

These things have run through her mind, as she stands 
where Clarence has left her, leaning on the little garden-gate. 
Now she goes in, with a heavy heart, the sweetness all gone 
from the sunshine that crowns her beautiful young head. She 
has known all along that he must go, but she had forgotten. 
Remembering now, she counts the days that remain, and her 
heart falls as heavy as lead to the fathomed sea. 

Jennie’s bridal flowers were sent in due time, and the 
golden hours slipped by, and then Mary and her mother were 
in Mrs. Brown’s parlor, awaiting the stroke of three and the 
entrance of the bride. 

There came a message for Mary to come to Jennie’s room. 

In the hall she met Dr. Conway, clad immaculately, his 
beard in a state of perfection, and his spirits unperturbed. 


334 


BOB DEAN. 


Mary herself had never looked better in her life. Her 
best dress, only a delicate cashmere, was exactly the needful 
setting for her sweet, thoughtful face, which, this afternoon, 
wore an unusual gravity. Her only ornament, of material 
substance, were the clusters of white Spirea at her throat and 
in her gleaming hair. 

“ Good evening, Doctor,” she said, offering him her hand. 

“Miss Mary!” his gloved fingers closed tightly on hers, 
and his leonine eyes were impressive. If he had meant to 
move her, by his ardent manner, to a regret that she had 
thrown away a chance for such a splendid husband, he sig- 
nally failed in his object ; for she only found herself amused 
that Dr. Conway should try to flirt on the eve of his wedding 
hour, and she rejoiced in her freedom from any thraldom to 
him. If she should ever again fall under the bonds of love, 
she meant it should be to an honorable man. 

Jennie was as pretty as could be expected of a very pretty 
girl, dressed for her wedding. She was not doubtful of her- 
self either, but had full confidence in her ability to steer the 
future. 

Mrs. Dean, Bob, and several other friends, were assembled 
to witness the ceremony, and “all went merry as marriage 
bells.” 

The lunch afterward did honor to even Mrs. Brown’s cui- 
sine ; and then came the parting. 

Nobody was allowed to cry, for Mrs. Brown was a sensible 
woman and had counted the cost beforehand, and Jennie 
could not think of making her handsome eyes red and ugly. 
Besides, they would only be absent a few weeks, when they 
would return to make their home with Pater familias. Jen- 
nie’s parents desired this arrangement, and Dr. Conway was 
quite willing to be relieved from the burden of a personal 
establishment. 


HYMENEAL. 335 

They were gone and Mrs. Lipscomb and Mary were ready 
to go home. 

“Bob,” said his mother, “have you finished that new 
book? I want Mary to read it.” 

“ Yes; I took it to school with me yesterday, and finished 
it at noon. Shall I bring it? it ’s in my room.” 

“ No. You stay. I will bring it.” 

Mrs. Lipscomb followed her out, to give a few parting 
words to Mrs. Brown, so Mary and Bob were left alone. 

“You will be ready for the other wedding when I come 
for you, Miss Mary ? ” 

What could he mean ? Would he choose this time and 
place, to tell her of his engagement ? The blood surged into 
her face. 

Pshaw ! What a simpleton she was ! Of course he meant 
Buck’s wedding, only he had not promised to take her there ; 
but he had so fallen into the habit of providing for her every 
pleasure, perhaps he had not thought it necessary to engage 
her company formally. Her abstracted thought was respon- 
sible for her want of ready apprehension. 

“Yes, thank you. Six o’clock is the time I believe,” she 
answered. 

“I will come at five, if it suits you. The roads are not 
good, and I would like a little daylight,” Bob said, wonder- 
ing why she blushed. 

“Here is the book, Mary,” said Mrs. Dean, entering just 
then. “You will find it very interesting.” 

“ Thank you. Good-bye. Mother, I see, is waiting on 
the porch for me.” 

She was glad to get away, and could have cried with vexa- 
tion at her own stupidity. 

At home, she stepped into the sitting-room alone, to 


BOB DEAN. 


336 

get her breath and collect her wits. Seating herself, she 
began turning the leaves of her book, but her thoughts were 
far away from its pages. Bob Dean was going away — he was 
going to be married, perhaps — she must be glad of it; for she 
wished him to be happy, but she was nervous and confused 
whenever she thought of it — what could she do to regain her 
equanimity ? Only banish the whole matter from her thoughts 
and try to get back her old unconsciousness ; enjoy what time 
was left, then, when he was gone, she would try to take up 
her life again, and ask God to fill the blank with some good 
work ; the rest she would leave with the Divine burden-bearer. 

Sighing, she turned over the leaves of the book in her lap. 

“ What is this ? ” 

A slip of paper, with pencil writing, and the writing was 
thus : 

“ Oh, my love, my love ! how can I patiently wait on the 
tardy pace of time, to bring our hearts together in perfect 
union ? Sometimes I feel as if I cannot, will not, wait, but 
must break through the distance that divides us and claim the 
boon, which my heart tells me, will one day be mine. Then 
will I take my treasure, compared to which my newly-in- 
herited fortune is a bauble — oh, my love — my Beatrice." 

Bob had loaned her several books before this one, and was 
in the habit of putting remarks and notes of explanation for 
her, on just such little bits of paper as this ; it was not folded, 
and ere she had become aware of its nature, the words had 
bitten themselves into her heart. 

It was all true then. This was the book he had been read- 
ing at school, and this the letter the boys had seen — only it 
was not a letter at all, but a stray bit of paper, on which he 
had penned his vagrant thoughts — a very foolish thing for a 
sensible man to do. But the boys’ report was certainly true. 


HYMENEAL. 


337 


He did love fondly, eagerly. How blessed was the woman 
who had won the treasure ! Should she grudge her the bless- 
ing ? Happy Miss Rubioli ! 

No, she should try to be thankful for his friendship, and 
honestly wish him joy. 

When Mrs. Dean and Bob came in the hack for her and 
her mother, she had not quite gotten back her old self ; she 
was quiet and reserved, but her frank face was full of the re- 
cently stirred feelings. 

Now, Bob’s far-seeing eyes took note of this, but he widely 
missed the truth of its source, in attributing it to the moving 
of old sentiments, awakened by Dr. Conway’s marriage. Was 
»it possible there lingered in her pure heart a tenderness for 
another woman’s husband ? The more he dwelt on the 
thought, the more troubled he became. He knew she would 
conquer in time, but his hopes, lately so buoyant, sank low, 
and seemed of distant, if not doubtful, fruition. The old 
pained look of kept-down trouble settled on his kind face, 
and he had little to say. 

Mrs. Dean readily perceived that something was amiss 
between them, but not knowing its nature she wisely con- 
cluded to cover their discomfiture by keeping up a lively 
chat with Mrs. Lipscomb. But the party bowling over the 
rough road, to Buck’s wedding, was not as merry as it might 
have been. 

Upon arriving, they found all in readiness, only awaiting 
their coming. Truly, they were honored guests. 

Buck, in his new suit of black, looked as happy and as un- 
comfortable as possible. Fortunately, he did not know that 
gloves might be considered essential to a wedding toilet, and, 
in his case, truly “ ignorance was bliss,” for had they been 
added to the other new things he was trying to manage, it is 
29 W 


333 


BOB DEAN. 


doubtful whether he had not succumbed to the difficulties 
which beset his path into matrimony. 

Agnes, though nervous, looked handsome, in white muslin, 
with the flowers Mary had sent her by Laura, at noon. 

Poor little Laura was as happy as a songless bird, flitting 
about here and there waiting on everybody. 

The ceremony was performed by the Justice of Peace, to 
whom the office was new. Of course, he made numerous 
blunders; but being a man of merit and of method, he each 
time went back to the beginning, when he found himself out 
of the track. This manner of procedure, though tedious, and 
calculated to increase the embarrassment of the parties con- 
cerned, was highly gratifying to Buck, who would have been 
willing to stand on the floor all night marrying Aggie ; and, 
moreover, he was sure that Mr. Crank, the justice, was going 
to make it good and tight, so that Aggie would be his, and 
no mistake. But all mundane things must have an end, and 
so did this marriage service ; and the supper following, which, 
though not so elegant as Mrs. Brown’s, was liberal — and the 
guests were not critical. 

Our friends were of the opinion that these two people had 
as much prospect of conjugal joy in the future as had those 
two who, by this time, were flying as fast as steam could bear 
them afar from these familiar scenes. 

The young persons were preparing to have some games, or 
“plays” as they called them, with which to close the even- 
ing’s pleasure. Bob and his party, after repeating their con- 
gratulations, came away, but not until Buck had once more 
thanked Bob for past favors. 

“ I tell you, Mr. Dean, if it had n’t a been for you, I ’d 
a been in the territories right now, instid of bein’ here, proud 
as a king.” 


SHADOWS. 


339 


The homeward ride was rendered lively by discussion of the 
many interesting events of the day. But when they parted at 
Mrs. Lipscomb’s gate, two young hearts were heavy with im- 
aginary woes. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

SHADOWS. 

“ T^vEAR FRIEND: — Clarence tells me that you have no 
1 / other pupil to-day, after his lesson is finished. If 
it suit your convenience, I will come at five for your German 
lesson, instead of after tea; my reason for so doing I will 
state in person. I shall take it for granted that you acquiesce, 
unless I hear from you, through Clarence, to the contrary. 

Truly, etc.,- B. D.” 

This note Clarence brought Mary, when he came to his 
music lesson, on the day after the weddings. It lacked but 
half an hour of the time appointed, when, his lesson finished, 
her pupil left ; and her exercise was not ready. There had 
been more than usual to do in her home to-day, as Laura had 
not yet returned to her duties; and Mary’s mind was per- 
turbed, and had not accomplished its labor with accustomed 
celerity. So, hastily arranging her books, she set to work to 
finish her translation before her teacher should arrive. Not 
a dozen words had been written, when her nimble pen was 
stayed in its course, for her eyes were blinded with hot tears, 
now raining down on the unwritten sheet. How could she 
go on in this work, when she remembered how soon it must 
stop. The dear, patient friend, who had done so much for 
her — had taught her as no one had ever been taught before ; 


340 


BOB DEAN. 


with such tender care ; so exact ; so ready to give help, even 
before she saw its need ; so solicitous that she should not over- 
tax her strength, nor encroach too much on her limited leisure 
hours ; yet so exacting that she learn aright all the while, and 
fall into no error — this teacher would soon be gone, and in 
the future she must pursue her path of knowledge with thorny 
labor, and in bare solitude. Could she ever, in the world, 
learn not to miss him? But this would not do; the lesson 
must be made ready. She dried her eyes, and faithfully 
struggled through the intricacies of “Hast du hunger? Ich 
bin schlafrig. Wer macht so viel Larm?” etc. 

The last word was written, the exercise neatly folded, pen 
wiped and replaced in its case, before the expected tread 
sounded on the porch. It was her own calm self who met 
and brought him in. 

“Is my pupil tired to-day?” he asked, taking her hand, 
and leading her to the round table where they worked. 

“Oh, no; but I came near not being ready for you. I 
have been idle this week.” 

“And I have inconvenienced you by coming earlier. You 
should have sent a negative by Clarence. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, not at all ; you must not think so.” 

“ I thought that as the Doctor and Jennie were gone, Mrs. 
Brown might be lonely, and it would be kinder if mother 
and I were not away to-night. The dear woman has been 
crying to-day, for all she tries to be so brave.” 

“You are always thoughtful for others, Mr. Dean. No 
wonder everybody is your friend.” 

“Because everybody is kind to me, and I hope I am not 
ungrateful.” 

The German lessons were only recited thrice a week, and 
heretofore Bob and his mother had come after tea on the 


SHADOWS. 


341 


allotted evenings, and they two had worked and exchanged 
their gutturals on one side the table, while their mothers knit 
or talked at the other, occasionally stopping to laugh at the 
strange, harsh sounds. 

The task went swiftly on to-day, and as Mary gathered 
together the books, the work being done, she said softly, 

“ I shall soon now have to learn to work alone, Mr. Dean.” 

Bob arose hastily and took several turns about the room 
before he resumed his seat. He could not bear to speak to 
her of his departure, with so. much in his heart untold, that 
he did not dare to tell. 

“You have learned with great aptness, and will be able to 
go on in acquiring the written language, with such helps as I 
can give you. But you will scarcely learn to speak German 
without further opportunity of conversation. You must accus- 
tom yourself to reading it aloud, daily.” 

She is thinking : “ Yes, he is trying to show me how to do 
without him — oh, will I ever learn?” 

“ And besides,” he continued, “ I mean to ask you to write 
to me while I am away, and we can make a part of each letter 
a lesson.” 

“I am proverbially a poor correspondent, and I am afraid 
if I have to write in German, I shall not improve in that 
capacity.” 

“ But I shall make a practice of putting all my compliments 
and all my secrets in that tongue, and request an answer in 
kind.” 

“ I fear your compliments will be ignored, and your secrets 
remain profound,” said Mary, shaking her head. 

He thinks he has never seen her look so sweet as she does 
this afternoon. Her clear eyes so full of intelligence, her 
face flushed with enjoyment of what she is doing, yet with a 
29 * 


342 


BOB DEAN. 


little plaintive touch about the fine mouth that tells of some 
undercurrent of feeling. For one instant he is on the point 
of putting his fate to the test, she is so charming in her simple 
dependence on him. But this very gentleness holds him off, 
lest he frighten her confidence, and lose what he has gained, 
by an untimely venture. Had he acted upon the impulse he 
had saved a deep draught of bitterness. 

But his courage failed, and the moment passed unimproved. 

“Speaking of letters, mother received one to-day from 
Miss Rubioli,” said he. 

“ Yes ? Is she well ?” Mary could not tell why she should 
tremble so that the words almost betrayed her. 

“No, she is not well. She writes that her health is quite 
indifferent, and her physician has recommended her to go to 
the country and lay aside her work for a while. In view 
thereof she wishes to know if we would like to have her for 
a neighbor, and if we can secure her board at the same house 
with us.” 

“And can Mrs. Brown accommodate her?” her voice still 
very faint, but Bob only thought she was not interested in 
the question she asked. 

“Oh, yes, I believe so.” 

Silence for some moments, then Mary said, 

“You will enjoy her visit very much. She is such excel- 
lent company.” 

But in her mind she was doubting the good taste of Miss 
Rubioli in paying her lover an unsolicited visit in this manner. 

“ Miss Mary, I hope you will not misapprehend me, when 
I say that, though she is one of the most interesting ladies I 
ever met, I rather regret her coming.” 

He spoke tardily as with effort. 

“ Indeed ! and may I ask why?” 


SHADOWS. 


343 


She fell that courtesy demanded the question, but she hoped 
he would not answer it. He too, it seemed, doubted Miss 
Rubioli’s taste. 

“ While Miss Leone is intelligent in a marked degree, she 
is very puzzling to me, a very enigma. She keeps my inter- 
est and solicitude strained painfully — tires my attention with 
her unceasing novelty, and I always experience a sense of 
relief when I escape her surveillance.” 

Mary gave him a look of quick surprise. What could he 
mean by discussing his lady-love, thus? Was it to conceal 
from her their tender relationship ? Why should he try to 
deceive her ? If he did not desire to make her the confidante 
of his cherished secret, there was no need he should fabricate 
an adverse opinion of character, to mislead her. Could Bob 
Dean stoop to such a craven act ? These things sped quick 
as lightning through her mind, while her grand eyes spoke 
them from their startled depths. She said nothing. 

“ Why, Miss Mary, how shocked you look ! What is the 
matter? Have I been too free in my speech, and do you 
so heartily espouse the cause of your sex ? Let me assure you, 
I mean no disrespect. I thought you would know it!” and 
he laughed merrily. But when he saw her turn pale, and 
lines of pain or anger lie upon the sweet mouth — lines that 
were hard and new upon her face, he came nearer, and putting 
his hand on hers, said : 

“ Dear friend, do not be offended with me about so slight 
a thing. I assure you I mean no harm in speaking in this 
manner about the young lady. I speak only the truth, and 
thought you knew me well enough to understand the remarks 
aright; there was no disrespect.” 

* “Don’t mention it — it is of no further consequence,” she 
said, taking her cold hand out of his, which, in his excite- 
ment, was too fervently improving its opportunity. 


344 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Miss Mary, I do not understand you. Why do you look 
and talk so ? — as if I had committed a crime, instead of an in- 
discretion? You are not used to take offence at a trifle, or to 
act inconsistently — please look at me and explain yourself. 
You make me miserable ! ” 

She hesitated a moment, debating whether she should tell 
him what was in her mind — let him see how far he had failed 
of deceiving her by his subterfuge, and how disappointed she 
was in finding him capable of it ; but she could not ; she only 
looked gravely at him, and said : 

“ No, Mr. Dean ; I am not inconsistent ; nor have I taken 
offence at a trifle. To make a remark, be it true or false, for 
the purpose of creating a false impression — whatever the end 
sought — is no trivial thing. I can make no further expla- 
nation.” 

She stood up, as if to signify it would be better he should 
go. Bob was confounded, and began to grow angry. 

“ I am sure I am totally at a loss to know what you mean, 
Miss Mary, and must say I think you unkind to make allusion 
to false impressions, which you will not explain. You take me 
at a disadvantage, which, to say the least, is quite unpleasant.” 

“That maybe true, Mr. Dean. But there is nothing to 
add to it.” 

“Then it only remains for me to bid you good-afternoon, 
trusting that time may throw some light on your strange 
conduct.” 

He took up his hat angrily and went to the door; then 
paused, as though it were impossible for him to leave her in 
anger; but she did not move nor look at him; so he went 
out, too respectful in his chivalry to allow himself the satis- 
faction of slamming the door. 

She stood, as he had left her, listening to his receding foot- 


SHADOWS. 


345 


steps, until the last echo died away ; then dropping into the 
chair he had just vacated, which seemed still to feel his presence, 
she crossed her arms on the table, and laid her head down on 
them — “cried,” you say? no; she did not cry; but thrilled 
and throbbed and trembled like a leaf on a wind-whipped 
lattice. 

Her first feeling was consternation that she had passed hard 
words with her friend — her precious, peerless friend ! it was 
a new sensation to be unfriendly with him, whose will and 
counsel it had grown second nature to receive and assimilate 
as her own. But her heaviest disappointment lay in the fact 
that he had tried to deceive her— in a slight manner at first, 
but persisted in, and augmented by an assumption of injured 
innocence — and it was Bob Dean had done this. In another, 
or towards another than herself, it would not have mattered 
so much, but they had never made a practice of even jesting 
or trifling in their conversation. Her disappointment was 
more poignant .than when she had found Dr. Conway rotten 
at heart ; for she had herself created him a nobleman, while 
Bob’s integrity had grown and established itself on her, until 
she thought she knew he was true — now to have her confidence 
shattered at one fell blow — how could she ever trust anybody 
again ? To say she was utterly miserable would but poorly 
express the state of her distracted heart. 

Nor was Bob’s mental condition in any degree less miser- 
able. After leaving her he took a walk, only reaching home 
as tea was ready. Then he sat. with Mrs. Brown and his 
mother, down-stairs, a little while, and mentioning unanswered 
letters — never failing excuse for people who wish to hide the 
true cause of isolation — he sought the solitude of his own 
room, regardless of the fact that he was to have cheered Mrs. 
Brown to-night. But he was not cheerful. 


BOB DEAN. 


346 

When his mother went up an hour afterward, she found him 
communing with the fire, while his eyes were shadowed and 
his brow roughened with thought lines. 

“ What is it, son ? ” and she caressed his waving hair on the 
hot temples. 

“Nothing that I can tell you to-night, mother,” he answered, 
taking her hand and putting it to his lips. 

He had nothing to tell, except that Mary Lipscomb was 
angry with him without a cause, and very incomprehensible 
and inconsistent. 

He did not wish to tell this, even to his mother — he loved 
her too fondly to tell her faults to another. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“CAN YOU DO SUCH A THING AS TO TRUST, WITHOUT 
UNDERSTANDING ? ” 

B OB got through the next two days in some sort of a mis- 
erable way, coming home from his work heartless and 
dispirited. 

His thoughts were all the time with Mary Lipscomb, and 
the more he pondered about her, the further was he from a 
solution of her strange conduct. And, moreover, the differ- 
ence between, through the distortion of heartache and fret- 
ting, grew in magnitude, like lengthened shadows when the 
day goes down. 

Friday evening came around — the time for her German 
lesson again, and he did not know how she would meet him, 
or whether he should go at all. He had debated the question 
with himself all day. 


“can you do such a thing,” etc. 347 

“ Bob,” said his mother, after tea, “ I was around at Mrs. 
Lipscomb’s this morning, and Mary asked me if you were 
coming to give her a lesson to-night. I thought strange she 
should ask it — did you say anything about not going?” 

“Did she want me to come ? ” he asked, quietly. 

“ She did not say. She was preparing her exercise, but 
seemed troubled about something; looked tired and grieved, 
just as you do, though she made no complaint.” 

There was a half-sad, half-knowing smile on her face, as 
she looked up into his grave eyes. He put his arm around 
her caressingly, but said nothing. 

“ Come, Bob, there is no need for you two young folks to 
make yourselves miserable about some trifle, as you are doing. 
Tell me what the trouble is, and let me see if I cannot help 
you.” » 

“ Did she tell you anything? ” 

“ Not a word which could have any bearing on your trouble. 
She treated me just as usual, only she seemed grieving, and 
I found her looking at me once, as if she were puzzled to 
know who and what I were.” 

“ I cannot tell you much, mother, for I know nothing, ex- 
cept that she has wounded me deeply.” 

“And you have pained her equally as much. How could 
you be so cruel to one you love? ” 

“ Don’t mother — you hurt me ! That I pained her is evi- 
dent, but how I could not find out. She intimated that I 
had departed from the truth, in a statement I made, and she 
was not jesting. You must acknowledge that to be a bitter 
thing to hear from her lips, when her face was a striking wit- 
ness that she spoke what she believed.” 

“And what was your statement ? ” 

“ We were speaking of Leone’s coming, and she having 


343 


BOB DEAN. 


remarked that I would doubtless enjoy her visit very much, 
I, with more candor than prudence, or gallantry, answered 
that I did not enjoy the young lady’s company — that she tired 
me. Whereupon Mary looked like I might have pronounced 
her to be a murderer, thief, or some other vile creature, and 
though I assured her I meant no disrespect, she would not 
forgive my impeaching the charms of her sex. When I be- 
sought her to explain, she said I had committed no trivial 
offence in endeavoring to produce a false impression. She 
would give no further light, and we parted coldly — or, rather, 
I was pretty hot.” 

“ It was about Leone, then.” 

“I suppose so, though I am sure there was little enough 
said on that subject. The whole thing is incomprehensible.” 

“ Mary Lipscomb has too much sense to get angry with 
you for speaking your feelings about anything — ungallant 
though she may regard it.” 

“And I did not speak with freedom or lightness even ; in 
fact, I hesitated over my speech until one might say I stam- 
mered in timidity.” 

“ Umph ! Humph! ” 

This combination of letters represent a grunted affirma- 
tive, which stood for a very knowing “ yes,” and after utter- 
ing it, Mrs. Dean released herself from her son’s encircling 
arms, and taking her rocking-chair, diligently smoothed her 
flaxen curls, as was her wont when thinking. Bob promenaded 
the narrow floor with long and soon-returning strides. 

“Bob, has it occurred to you that Mary may have misap- 
prehended your relations with Leone ? ” 

“ Relations with Leone?” He came to the rug and looked 
at her. 

“Yes. She may think you are lovers, you know.” 


“CAN YOU DO SUCH A THING,” ETC. 349 

“ Impossible ! She has no ground for such a thought.” 

“From you, perhaps not — from her, I am not so sure.” 

“ Mother, how can you say that ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, I will tell you, my son, as it now seems fit I should. 
When we were at Austin, we saw a great deal of Leone, in 
the brief time of our stay, and Mary was more with her than 
I. I hate to speak of it, son, out of respect to your feelings, 
as well as hers, but she evidently thinks a great deal of you. 
In short, she loves you, and cannot conceal the fact from a 
close observer.” 

“ Mother ! ” He got up and made two circles- of the room ; 
then sitting down beside her, hid his face with his broad 
hand, saying: 

“ I know it — have known it a long time — before I left 
home. I did all I could to dispossess her of such a senti- 
ment, by seeming to be ignorant of it. She positively per- 
secuted me, but always in such a lady-like manner that I could 
not avoid it. It grieves me beyond words to know it, or to 
mention it even to you. But it is that which makes me look 
forward to her coming with so much discomfort.” 

“ I hope we will be able to manage that pleasantly, dear. I 
am glad we understand each other ; but I want Mary to under- 
stand, too. Leone may have conveyed the impression to her 
that there was some bond of tenderness between you, and 
your remarks about her, the other day, consequently sounded 
not only ungallant, but of a nature to convey a false im- 
pression.” 

Bob took his hand down from his face suddenly, and looked 
at Mrs. Dean ; then puckering his lips slowly, finally brought 
out an emphatic whistle. 

“ Wh-i-i-i-ph ! mother ! why did n’t I think of that ? Of 
course, just because I did not have a woman’s wits to think 

30 


350 


BOB DEAN. 


with. That is the very reason of the whole matter. I am 
sure of it now.” 

Mrs. Dean nodded wisely, but said nothing. 

“That is what she meant by its being no trivial offence to 
endeavor to create a false impression. She thought I had set 
myself out to try to deceive her. No wonder she was angry. 
But she might have known me better. I should never have 
doubted her.” 

“You are mistaken there, Bob. You have doubted her for 
the last two days; not her truth, for you had no cause to 
doubt that, but her justice.” 

“I thank you for the suggestion, little mother — for both 
suggestions. I was a simpleton not to have told you at once ; 
but all men are, when they keep their troubles back from the 
women who love them. Isn’t it time we were starting; we 
will already be late, and I am afraid she will be anxious to 
know whether we are coming.” 

His mother laughed at his eagerness, but put on her shawl, 
and they were soon at Mrs. Lipscomb’s. They found only 
that lady herself in the sitting-room, and Bob was dis- 
appointed. He had hoped Mary would be waiting anxiously 
for him, as unhappy as himself about their misunderstanding. 
How could he know she had been flitting in and out, to and 
from the porch, for fifteen minutes, making a pretence to her- 
self of being oppressed by the unreasonable warmth of the 
evening? that she had twice written her lesson to make sure 
there was no carelessness in the work? had placed and re- 
placed the books and papers and lamp on the table, unable 
to satisfy herself as to the fitness of their position ; and, 
prompted by some new and unexplained motive, had glided 
out of sight only when she heard his footstep ? 

Her mother had watched her curiously for the two days 


“can you do such a thing,” etc. 351 

past, but, shaking her head, asked no questions, knowing her 
child would come to her for comfort, as soon as the comfort 
could reach her. To-night she is beginning to grow impa- 
tient about whatever it is that makes Mary so unlike her usual 
calm self. She is quite sure it is something in which Bob 
Dean is concerned, and she has held her peace, hoping his 
coming to-night will do good to the restless spirit. So she is 
glad when he and his mother come. 

A moment after Mary enters, quiet outwardly, though the 
quick breath and dilated eyes tell a tale of unrest, and the 
hand she gives Bob is cold and tremulous. 

She goes immediately to work on her lesson, as if that 
were the sole object of the evening; and Bob follows her 
lead, acting, as nearly as he can, like the old ground of confi- 
dence had never been shaken. But, when the work is done, 
he puts the books aside with some emphasis, and rises. 

“Now, Miss Tviary, will you favor me with your company 
for a walk ? The moon shines, and the night is mild — just 
delightful; come.” 

He takes up his hat as if he did not apprehend a denial, 
and he flushes when she softly answers, 

“ Not this evening, thank you, Mr. Dean.” 

Her words are timidly spoken, but her eyes are very 
determined. 

Both mothers look up in surprise, and Mrs. Lipscomb 
exclaims: 

“Why, Mary! of course you will go; you have not been 
out to-day ! Go get your shawl, and take a good long walk. 
I am glad Mr. Dean is so thoughtful as to ask you ; it will do 
you good, Baby-child.” 

Her eyes rest wistfully on her darling and carry their point, 
for Mary, standing so firm a moment past, now goes off for 


352 


BOB DEAN. 


her wraps, and, returning, passes out into the moonlight with 
Bob, without speaking again. 

With her hand on his arm, against his true heart, it is no 
wonder if the old confidence return ; for a moment she won- 
ders that she could have doubted him ; then i^ason comes up 
again, and the heartache with it. 

The gate is closed behind them, and some paces made on 
the hard banquette before he speaks. 

“ Were you so unwilling to come you will not speak to me ? 
Was it ungenerous in me to allow your mother to prevail on 
you to do, in filial duty, what you would not, of choice, 
grant me? Forgive me, I wanted so much to have you 
come.” 

“It does not matter. I was only — ” indifferent, she was 
going to say, but her honesty forbids the words, and she 
leaves the sentence finished only with a caught breath. 

“Miss Mary, what is amiss between us? I have offended 
you, I am sure, but am wholly innocent of such design.” 

After a brief silence, she answers gravely : 

“Offended is not the word, Mr. Dean; yet I can find no 
other to express my wounded confidence.” 

“‘Wounded confidence’ — that means you have a trust in 
me, but it is no longer a whole and healthy trust. I am 
grateful that it is not wounded unto death. Perhaps if you 
will be candid with me, I may be able to say something 
which may heal the hurt, which is inexpressibly painful to 
me.’' 

He speaks sadly, and the moonlight reveals in the face bent 
toward hers, that the words are very true. She is touched by 
the sight no less than the words, and tremblingly answers : 

“And to me, too. But you ask an impossibility. I cannot 
explain to you.” 


“can you do such a thing,” etc. 353 

“Then I shall have to make a plunge in the dark, and risk 
submerging myself into deeper mazes of misapprehension ; for 
an explanation there must be — we two cannot go on, standing 
thus towards each other — I, at least, cannot bear it.” 

He pauses, but she does not speak, and the hand resting on 
his arm trembles so that he lays his right one upon it, and 
contitfties : 

44 I am almost afraid to approach the subject of Miss Rubioli, 
for I am sure that she is, unwittingly, the disturbing element 
between us. The fact has been suggested to my mind that 
you misapprehend the relation we bear to each other, and, 
basing your reason on that erroneous ground, conclude that 
in what I said the other day I deliberately set about deceiving 
you. ’ ’ 

She does not answer, but turns her face away from him, 
arranging the white fleecy wrap she wears on her head ; in so 
doing she drops her train, which she has been holding with 
her left hand, and removes her right from his arm to recover 
it. Having got rid of his clasp on her fingers she replaces it. 

“Am I right, Miss Mary?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you believe I could do such a thing?” 

“Iam loth to believe it. I can never make you know how 
terribly hard it is for me to have to believe it ; but I have a 
good and sufficient reason.” 

There are tears in her voice and eyes. Bob hails their com- 
ing with hope ; anything is better than this strange, icy Mary 
Lipscomb — any Mary Lipscomb, I mean. 

“Will you tell me the reason?” 

“ I cannot; suffice to say it is sufficient and conclusive.” 

4 4 Even against my spoken evidence ? Truly your confidence 
has been shaken — mortally wounded, I fear. But does it occur 
3°* x 


354 


BOB DEAN. 


to you that you may be doing me a great injustice — a thing I 
do not merit at your hands?” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Dean, don’t say that. I would not, for the 
whole world, be unjust to you, who have been the best friend 
I ever had. You do not understand, and I cannot explain — 
I cannot ! ’ ’ 

Her dark eyes are the pleading ones now. Bob is thinking. 
Evidently she has been told that he and Leone are lovers — 
told by some one who ought to know the truth, else she would 
not so firmly believe it. Who could be the informer, except 
Leone herself? Should he put his direct denial against her 
assertion ? give the falsehood to her words, and she a lady, 
soon to be the guest of himself and mother ? for, plainly she 
regarded this the position to which she was coming. It is 
impossible he should do so, unless it is his last resort. 

As they pace on in silence her slender hand clings more 
tightly to his supporting arm, as if mutely pleading with him 
to forgive the pain she is causing him. It gives him comfort, 
too, and he longs to clasp it again, but remembers with what 
pains she removed it a while ago, and refrains. 

If his next words had no meaning at all, their deep-touched 
tones ought to have been potent to move the woman’s heart, 
beating so close to his own. 

* ‘ Miss Mary, you say I have been a good friend to you. 
God knows, if an unswerving devotion of purpose counts for 
anything, I have meant to be. And now, I will put to the 
test your valuation of its genuineness. I have never deceived 
you— not in the veriest trifle — could I, in so momentous a 
thing? I ask you to believe me — trust me — and give you 
an immediate proof of my honesty. Lay up that sufficient, 
weighty reason you have in your mind, and do not allow it to 
stand against me. Sometime I can explain the seeming dis- 


"can you do such a thing,” etc. 355 


crepancy. Can you do such a thing as to trust without under- 
standing? Will you trust me , my dear friend?” 

He stops and looks full at her in the moonlight. 

Those clear, gray eyes are true ; the earnest voice is true ; 
his past conduct has all been true ; the great heart she can 
feel pulsing against her hand, must be — is true ! The doubts 
are gone. Though she cannot understand — she believes him 
again. Oh ! how glad to believe him. Taking her right 
hand from his arm, she puts the left with it, and both into 
his, saying : 

“Yes, Mr. Dean, I believe you; I will trust.” 

Ah, Bob Dean, what a moment of triumph for you ! Put 
on the brakes ! your train of exultant joy may speed too swift 
for safety ! The cloud is gone from his eyes, and they are so 
soft, so tender, I believe there are tears in them as he says : 

“ God bless you for that ! Your faith is not misplaced ; 
you will not regret it.” 

He puts her hand back upon his arm, but dares now to 
hold it too, and they walk on in silence. Mary wonders at 
the swift flood of happiness sweeping over her, but does not 
try to understand. 

Bob does understand his bliss, but just now does not care 
to put that other question. He has enough joy to-night, in 
knowing her faith in him conquers that “sufficient reason to 
doubt him,” even without removing the reason. 

“I thank you,” continues he. “You ask me no further 
question, and it is best. I will make it all plain by-and-by. 
Until then we will not talk about it. I shall have to go away 
soon, and I want all the rest of the moments to be pleasant 
ones.” 

When they reach the porch at home he stops her a mo- 
ment on the steps where the moonlight is weaving shad- 


356 


BOB DEAN. 


owy fret-work from the vines overhead, and, speaking slowly, 
says : 

“ Mother and I are going over to Rockdale to-morrow to 
meet Miss Leone, and bring her back. We want you and 
Mrs. Lipscomb to go with us.” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Dean !” she says in a frightened way; then 
adds, softly, “Why?” 

“ It will be a pleasant ride, and we will enjoy your com- 
pany. I want to see as much as possible of you both while 
I remain, and there is no reason, that I know, why you should 
not.” He looks straight at her. “I want you; will you 
come ? ’ ’ 

She thinks a moment, struggling with herself, but his wish 
conquers again. 

“Yes, if mother is willing.” 

# “ Thank you.” 

And they go in doors. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

TWO FORTUNES AS TOLD BY A GYPSY. 

I T is just eleven o’clock next day when our three friends 
drive up to the station in Rockdale — only three, because 
Mrs. Lipscomb had found some good reason for not coming, 
but insisted that Mary should. 

The team is gentle, so they draw near the station-house, and 
keep their seats in the wagon ; this is a four-seated vehicle, 
with room in the rear for a trunk — to come on the train — 
besides an ominous-looking large basket, contents yet to be 
made known. 


TWO FORTUNES AS TOLD BY A GYPSY. 357 

The train-whistle shrieks, and Bob hands Mary the reins, 
and goes to assist Miss Rubioli out. When, a moment later, 
they reach the wagon, Bob finds that Mary has slipped over 
to the back seat, with Mrs. Dean, leaving a vacant place next 
his for their guest. 

Miss Rubioli looks very handsome in her stylish travelling 
suit, but her sallow face is thinner, and her great eyes deeper 
set, and more fiery, than when we saw her last. 

She greets the other ladies with eager demonstrations of 
affection, and, seated by Bob, turns and looks about her 
almost happily. 

The trunk is, of course, larger than Bob had expected, but 
is finally persuaded to adjust itself to the space allotted in the 
rear, and they drive gayly off, out of town. The day is lovely. 
Many of the trees are already decked in their light-green livery, 
while the swelling buds of the more prudent kinds diffuse a 
sweet, resinous odor to the spring air. 

A few miles of sand, after leaving town, check the spirit of 
the horses, giving leisure for long breaths and talk. 

“The country is so sweet — so fresh now!” said Miss 
Rubioli. 

“But not pretty here, as in Travis County,” suggested 
Mary. 

“ The country is always pretty, and grand, too, in its way,” 
responded Bob. 

“ Still a lover of nature, Mr. Dean ? ” 

“ Of course. * Nature never yet betrayed the heart that 
truly loves her.’ ” 

“And other things do?” asked Miss Rubioli, her eyes 
reiterating the query with trebled points. 

“I did not say so — the inference is your own. Come, 
Miss Leone, you must not try to make me cynical; you 


358 BOB DEAN. 

have attempted that before, without success,” said Bob, laugh- 
ing. 

“And liked you better, because I could not — you always 
refresh me, Mr. Dean,” she said, in a low tone. Not so low, 
however, but Mary heard it, which fact Bob perceived from 
her quickly averted face — and he blushed. He now began 
to notice a thing, which annoyed him, while he could not 
remedy it, during the next two hours’ ride — that Mary most 
conscientiously abstained from watching Miss Rubioli and 
himself. His answer to her last remark was loud enough for 
all to hear. 

“And you think I am refreshing! For the same reason 
that nature is to-day — we are both green ! The analogy is 
evident — Miss Leone, I cannot say I am complimented.” 

They all laugh, and Bob touches up the horses, the sand 
having been passed, and the road now being hard and fine. 

Presently they reach and cross over Little River, which is 
spanned by a strong bridge. A little further on Bob turns 
out of the road to where three great Live Oaks blend in one 
their dusky shades, and here checks the team. 

“Do you stop here? There is no town in sight,” said 
Miss Rubioli, scanning the surroundings. “ Is that house in 
the suburbs ? ’ ’ and she pointed to a primitive cabin on the 
hillside, a single room, built of logs, flanked by a nondescript 
addenda, with walls and roof of slabs, which might be fowl- 
house, pig-sty, or meat room ; on the sloping top of this, 
five little “darkies” were basking their ugly bodies in the 
sun. 

“Isn’t that a picturesque group? We affect the rustic 
style here, you perceive.” 

“But where is the rest of the town? Where do you 
live?” 


TWO FORTUNES AS TOLD BY A GYPSY. 359 

Bob laughed. ‘‘Not in that house. No, we are seven 
miles from C 

“ Then you have stopped to rest the horses? They look 
tired.” 

“And ourselves too,” said Mrs. Dean. “Leone, don’t 
you want to limn that group ? ” 

They climbed out of the wagon and looked around them. 

“ The spring is just down there,” said Mary, pointing to 
the foot of the hill, where was a little rill of bright water. 

“ And I am very thirsty,” exclaimed Leone. “ Let us go 
down to it.” 

They walked down, and Bob followed after, bringing with 
him the basket, which we find contained a most bountiful 
lunch, besides sundry cups, spoons, etc., and a little coffee- 
pot. Mary put two flat stones together and Bob made a fire 
of dry sticks between them, and boiled the coffee. The 
bounteous, gnarled roots of the live-oaks, cushioned with 
shawls, made convenient seats, comfortable as arm-chairs. 
Sandwiches, pickle, cold fowl, jelly-cake, and pies, never 
tasted better than this day, eaten in the sweet spring air, with 
all out-of-doors for a dining-room. 

Bob is stretched full length on the ground, sipping his 
coffee and watching the ladies. 

“ Mother, Miss Leone, do you remember the day we dined 
like this on Mount Bonnell ? ” 

The younger lady’s eyes flash assent, and a bright spot 
leaps to her cheek and stays, but she is silent. 

“Indeed I do,” answers Mrs. Dean. “That was the day 
the gypsy woman came and told you young people’s for- 
tunes.” 

“Yes,” Bob said, thoughtfully. Mary noticed a peculiar 
expression about his mouth ; and his eyes looked a moment 


BOB DEAN. 


360 

at hers, then searched Leone’s half-averted face, as if craving 
a mute permission. 

Whatever he wanted he did not get, for when she did look at 
him, her face burned a purple red, and her weird eyes flashed 
a gleam of — was it supplication or defiance ? then dropped, 
as in shame. 

Mary was painfully puzzled over the silent play, and wished 
she knew how to get away and give them opportunity to ex- 
plain to each other in words what was in their minds and 
faces. There was the basket to repack — she would go about 
that ; she put her hand on the tree-root to rise, when Bob put 
his out and detained her, saying : 

“ Wait, Miss Mary, and I will tell you about that day, and 
our fortunes as oracled by the gypsy sibyl. ’ ’ 

He looked once more at Leone, but got no look back. His 
eyes were very determined now, though they bore an ex- 
pression of grieving, spite of a smile, as he said : 

“ There was a gay party of us up on Mount Bonnell. We 
had admired the inexpressible beauty of scenery, the fair 
valley with its blue river smiling beneath us, the grand moun- 
tains in the purple distance, and the silver streams threading 
through the cedar-clad hills to the west, all of which, seen 
from the height we were on, seemed like a picture on canvas. 
We had looked over the ‘Mad Lover’s Leap,’ and cut our 
names, one above another’s, on the mutilated cedar crowning 
it. Then we went down the mountain-side again to our 
carriages, and were eating lunch, just as we are doing now, 
when the woman came — a pretty woman of her age, for a 
gypsy — and begged to tell our fortunes. We were just the 
crew for any new madness, and several of us had in turn 
listened to the revelation of the future, when it came our 
time — I mean Miss Leone’s and mine. May I tell yours, 
Leone? for I mean Miss Mary shall hear mine.” 


TWO FORTUNES AS TOLD BY A GYPSY. 3 6l 

“ No, I will tell it myself, Mr. Dean. Miss Mary, she said 
I should be often loved, and refuse to be moved, till I should 
grow to fear I was incapable of love — then unawares, should 
find I worshipped an ideal, which was nobler even than I 
deemed ; ’t would be a question resting in divine art to de- 
cide, whether I should gain my desire and be happy, or fail 
and be miserable — if I gained, I should be less happy than I 
expected ; if I failed, my misery would be ameliorated by the 
very cause of failure. That was all, and of course the whole 
tale was unsatisfactory, and I wished I had kept in my pocket 
the silver with which I had crossed her palm.” 

“ I should have wanted a priest to explain the message of 
the oracle,” said Mary. “It seems to me your future was 
only veiled in deeper obscurity.” 

“ It will never be explained ; but I understand it as well as 
I want to, and it will be as true as gospel.” 

“Isn’t it rather void of comfort, though?” asked Mary, 
laughing. “ I should n’t know whether I would rather suc- 
ceed and miss great happiness, or fail and find comfort.” 

“ I will take the success, and risk happiness. I will have 
it !” she added, with set teeth. 

Bob and Mrs. Dean exchanged glances. 

“She did not even tell you,” said Mrs. Dean, “whether 
your dear ideal was to be a creature of flesh and blood, or 
only a part of that art on which its fate depended.” 

“ No, and I am glad she did not \ it has always been a com- 
fort to me to know that it admits of either construction.” 

She drew a deep breath and leaned back against the tree 
behind her. When she first began to speak she was nervous, 
and her attenuated fingers tremblingly plucked at a spray of 
green she held ; but now her statuesque manner returned, and 

31 


BOB DEAN. 


362 

her face was as colorless as old ivory. Turning to Bob she 
said : 

“ Had we better not ride on, Mr. Dean? I should like to 
rest soon.” 

“ Yes, in a moment. Miss Mary has not heard my fortune 
yet. * ’ 

He ehanged his position so he could not see Leone, and 
addressed his words to Mary, who saw there was a deliberate 
purpose in them. 

“ My fate is not to be obscure like my friend’s 'there. As 
soon as the sibyl scanned my palms, and put a hair from my 
temple into her left ear, she prophesied without doubt or 
delay. I was to love only once, but oh, so fondly ! love the 
dearest, sweetest, best woman in the world ; through much 
perplexity and a risked life (mine or another’s, not known), 
should win her. I should call her fond names without end, 
but the sweetest of all should be * Beatrice,’ and I should 
never weary of its syllables.” 

Bob’s face was mobile with its stirred feelings as he talked ; 
he was realizing the sweetness of the words in his deepest 
heart, and was unprepared for the startled look of Mary’s 
eyes, resting full on his, as he pronounced the name. He 
knew she had connected it, in her mind, with Leone, but he 
did not know she had seen his written avowal of devotion to 
his “Beatrice,” which was the ground of all their recent 
trouble. She looked at Miss Rubioli, and saw that dark flush 
rise again to her brow, then fade. This lady Bob abstained 
from seeing, but he watched Mary steadily and read her mind ; 
he pursued the subject : 

“This, you will apprehend, was very comforting to me. 
In the first place, I should not be in doubt (if I believed my 
prophetess) as to the genuineness of my passion, as there was 


TWO FORTUNES AS TOLD BY A GYPSY. 363 

to be but one. Secondly, I should certainly win her, the 
vanquished difficulties — risked life, etc. — only adding laurels 
to my victory. My charming « Beatrice ’ found, there will be 
nothing left to be done, but for her to proceed at once to 
make me ‘ happy. ’ 7 7 

Bob was astonished at his own audacity, and paused, feeling 
that the treasures of Vanderbilt were less than the fortune 
he would give — if he had it — to be able to know, certainly, 
that his presaged fate would be verified in the gift of the pure 
young heart that was looking through those candid, wondering 
eyes into his. 

How he could talk so, with Miss Rubioli present, was what 
astonished Mary. If there was no love between them she 
could not understand all this conversation, which, it seemed 
to her, had been brought about on purpose to let her into a 
knowledge of why Miss Rubioli was called “Beatrice.” Yet 
Bob’s demeanor was not lover-like, but friendly, with the free 
lightness of a brotherly privilege. She could make nothing 
of it ; but she had promised Bob to trust him. And she did 
it, taking comfort in the thought that she could. Her con- 
fidence was strengthened, somehow, by this hour’s talk, for he 
was evidently carrying out some purpose in relating his story, 
and she believed it was connected with, and leading to, the 
full explanation which was, in time, to reward her faith in 
him. It was hard for her to realize now that Leone Rubioli 
was nearer to him than herself, so sweet and precious did the 
newly-restored confidence seem. 

Bob now rose from the ground, and, assisting the ladies to 
their feet, they put up the remnant of the luncheon, and were 
presently under way again. 

It was four o’clock when they came to Mrs. Brown’s gate, 
which was first reached on the way. Mary proposed that she 


364 


BOB DEAN. 


should get out here with the other ladies, not detaining the 
team any longer. Bob settled the question by asking her to 
hold the reins for him, while he took his mother, Miss Rubioli, 
and their numerous packages into the house. A colored man 
came out for the trunk, and then Bob and Mary drove off 
together. When they reached her home, and he had assisted 
her out, and opened the gate for her, he stopped an instant, 
saying : 

“ Miss Mary, I thank you for your faith in me to-day. I 
can see that you have not, as the boys say, 1 gone back * on 
the promise you made me last night. It will do me good all 
the days of my life.” 

Almost any other woman would have read the full tale of 
love in those beaming gray eyes. But Mary was thinking of 
Miss Rubioli, and believed they beamed for her. She felt 
very lonely when he was gone, and, standing under the honey- 
suckles, watched the little cloud of dust the wagon left behind. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

BEATRICE NOT LEONE. 

S EVERAL days after Miss Rubioli’s arrival, Bob was met, 
on his return home in the afternoon, by Mrs. Brown, at 
the front door, with an open letter in her hand ; she was in a 
quiver of joy and excitement. 

“ Oh, Mr. Dean, I ’ve a letter from Jennie, which is written 
from New Orleans; and she is homesick, and doesn’t want 
to go to Virginia now ; so they started back on the day this 
was written, and will be here to-night — no bad luck happen- 


BEATRICE NOT LEONE. 365 

ing. I am too glad for anything, and I want to get you to 
go round to Mrs. Lipscomb’s and ask her and Mary to come 
and spend the evening and meet them. I am looking for 
them every minute. I could send Mat, but I ’d rather you 
would go.” 

“And I ’d rather go, too, dear Mrs. Brown. I would not 
lose the pleasure of being the messenger of so much happi- 
ness for anything. I will change my coat and go at once. I 
want to see Jennie myself,” and he ran merrily up to his 
room. 

He found it vacant, but could hear Leone singing, softly, 
in his mother’s room, next. He rapped at the door. 

“ Come in, Mr. Dean, come in ! ” 

Leone looked round with bright eyes. She had taken out 
her easel and brushes, and was always happy at this work. 

“ Where is mother ? ” Bob asked, stopping in the door. 

“ She went out somewhere, just after dinner — perhaps to 
Mrs. Lipscomb’s — leaving me to keep room for her. Can I 
do anything for you in her stead ?” 

“Thanks, I want nothing. I am going out a little while, 
and wanted she should know. ’ ’ 

He closed the door, and the brightness all left the artist’s 
face, as if a sheet of sunlight had been shut out. Her pencil 
was laid down, and her deep-set eyes wandered off to some 
unhappy part of dreamland. 

Bob had scrupulously avoided private interviews with her 
since her coming, and she could no longer disguise from her 
tortured heart that her love was hopeless. But she had no 
element in her nature to brook defeat, and was not ready to 
quit the field, vanquished — there were other measures yet un- 
tried. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Dean ! ” 


3 66 


BOB DEAN. 


“Mrs. Delgado, how are you?” responded Bob, as that 
lady arrested his progress, a little way down the street. 

“Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Dean. Really, I be- 
lieve I am nearly as glad of your good fortune as you can 
possibly be yourself.” 

“ My good fortune ? To what do you refer ? ” 

“ Oh ! it is all true then. You have more than one good 
fortune ! I congratulate you a second time ! ’ ’ 

She put the tips of her gloved fingers together, and, rolling 
up her eyes, shook her head from side to side in ecstasy, too 
deep for more words. 

“You mystify me, madam. Will you be kind enough to 
explain ? ’ * asked Bob. 

“ Really, I thought you would understand. I hope I am 
not bold in mentioning it, but I heard that you had inherited 
quite a fine fortune, and had, moreover, gained the consent 
of a fair lady, of equal station, to share it with you, who, 
rumor says, is so true and devoted, that she cannot brook a 
long absence from your beloved companionship. The news 
rendered me quite happy, I assure you. I do take such a 
warm interest in the welfare of my friends, among whom I 
esteem you chief. I shall take an early opportunity to call, 
and make the acquaintance of your charming affiancee. 
Oh!” she cried, piteously, as she saw he was about to 
deny the rumor, “please do not tell me it is not true.” 

“ I thank you, madam, for your kind wishes, but I am sorry 
to inform you that your information is not all correct. Good 
day ! ” and, laughing, he touched his hat and passed on. 

Mrs. Delgado would willingly have sacrificed the longest 
of her iron-gray curls to have found out which part of the re- 
port was true — the fortune, or the lady-love ; but before she 
could rally for a new volley of questions, Bob had gone be- 
yond recall. 


BEATRICE NOT LEONE. 367 

Although he had laughed at Mrs. Delgado’s version of mat- 
ters, Bob was yet considerably annoyed. He would have 
much preferred keeping secret his recent good luck in fortune 
for his own pleasure, but that was of minor consideration in 
comparison with the other report, which might be compro- 
mising to his own honor and to the modesty and discretion 
of Leone Rubioli. It certainly placed him in an awkward 
position, and he most heartily wished his fair guest back in 
Austin, in Rome, or even in “Halifax,” if that place were 
agreeable to her. He found Mary giving a music lesson. 

“Have a seat, Mr. Dean,” she said, with a smile of wel- 
come. 

“ Do not let me interrupt you. I have a message for you, 
but it and I can wait, and in the meantime I will look at your 
new monthly — mine is yet unopened.” 

“I shall be done and at leisure in just ten minutes,” re- 
sponded Mary, continuing her lesson. 

Bob seated himself at the round table where they were ac- 
customed to do their German work, but did not take up the 
journal he had mentioned. His face was partly averted from 
Mary, but, glancing round her pupil’s back at him, presently, 
she noticed that a crimson stain had mounted to the edge of 
his clustering hair, and the ear next her and his neck were 
the same ardent hue. Wondering, she looked to see what he 
was examining so intently. He had found the book that he 
had recently loaned to her, which still contained that terrible 
little billet-doux. She had left it in the book, and this after- 
noon brought the latter into the sitting-room, intending when 
done her lessons to take it home, hoping she might be able to 
slip it into the bookcase without attracting attention. to it. 
He had opened it, found the paper, and read it. Oh, why 
did she let him catch her eye ? He must know that she, too, 


368 


BOB DEAN. 


had read it. What would he do? Now he could under- 
stand her suspicion — her almost positive assurance that he 
loved Leone. How would he be able to explain it, and 
his seeming denial? She was glad the crisis had come, but 
dreaded it — dreaded for the lesson to be finished, when she 
would be left alone with him. She meant to ignore his con- 
scious look, and let him pass it by, unmentioned, if he wished. 

“One, two, three, and four — no, Ella; that is not right — 
one, two, three, and four — last two quick — that will do — one, 
two, three, four.” 

She wishes she dare look at him again — and immediately 
does so — timidly — she sees that though the blush has scarcely 
paled, there is a quiet, half sad smile on his face, and a very 
determined set of the square chin, that portends something. 

“Play this once more, Ella — one, two — ” 

“ But Miss Mary, my time is out — the clock has struck five ; 
and please let me go, for mamma wants me. * * 

“ Very well — yes, you have had your full time. Good-bye 
— don’t forget to practice.” 

She opened the door for her pupil, then said to Bob, 

“Your mother is here, Mr. Dean, helping ^mother to 
plant garden this afternoon. I will go bring them in, if you 
will excuse me a moment.” 

She was already at the door, but Bob, with an importunate 
gesture, detained her. 

“ Not yet; Miss Mary ; I have something to say to you first. 
Won’t you please sit down and talk with me?” 

He drew the arm-chair forward, and seated her, but went 
himself off to the mantel, where he could look at her. 

He was quite composed now, but his voice took a key which 
thrilled her being. Taking the slip of paper from his breast 
pocket, he said : 


BEATRICE NOT LEONE. 


369 


“You saw this, Miss Mary ? ” 

“ I did. But the reading of it was unintentional — I thought 
it some remarks about the book, until it was read.” 

“It is unnecessary to tell me that, my friend. I am glad 
I found it. This was the cause of your doubting my veracity 
the other day, was n’t it ? ” , 

“Yes. Pretty conclusive, was it not?” she asked, smil- 
ing. 

“Your ‘good and sufficient reason,’ ” he said, thought- 
fully. “ And did no one tell you anything to add to this? ” 

“No.” 

“I am very thankful for that.” His face lit up wonder- 
fully now. “ Had I known it, I should not have put your 
faith in me to so severe a test. However, I do not regret 
that,” he added, with triumph in his eyes, “ since it has borne 
it and is purified ‘ as by fire.’ But since no one told you who 
my ‘ Beatrice ’ is, why do you so positively confer the appel- 
lation on Leone? Why not some other ? ” 

His eyes search hers to a purpose. 

“Why not some other? How could it be any other?” 
she asked, wondering. “ Have not you always called her so, 
yourself? I never heard you use the name in connection with 
any other.” 

He studied his own feet on the floor, and fixed his mouth 
as if to whistle ; but he did not mean to whistle. He was 
thinking. Drawing a sudden, deep breath, he said : 

“ No, Miss Mary, I did not give the title to her, neither 
have I ever called her by it in my life, nor ever shall. She 
assumed it. You will* not misapprehend me, if I say so, I 
hope — I find you are not so violent a champion of your sex, 
as I had thought — ” 

“ Champion of my sex? I do not understand.” 

Y 


370 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Of course not — I have not yet explained that ; no matter, 
let it pass for the present. I said she assumed the name. 
After the incident on Mount Bonnell, of which I told you” — 
he now came over to the table and sat down beside her — “ we 
were having some amateur theatricals, for a charity benefit ; 
several persons represented portraits of illustrious character and 
distinguished paintings, by standing motionless behind picture 
frames. She chose Beatrice Cenci, and really bore some resem- 
blance to the copies we see of Guido’s great masterpiece. 

“Some friend, who had heard the gypsy’s prophecy, rallied 
me about her, in her presence, and, prompted by gallantry, I 
avowed myself delighted with the personation, and only 
regretted I could not retain so fair a picture, until my veri- 
table * Beatrice ’ should put in her appearance. Whereupon 
she set to work and sketched her own face, l en costume de 
Beatrice ,’ and presented me with it. Of course I was properly 
grateful, and she has seemed ever since to consider herself as 
having a title to the name and character ; and that is all. I 
hope you will pardon my freedom in telling this to you, which 
I do with all merited respect towards the young lady. I feel 
that I have a right to do so now, on learning from you that 
your impression was received from no information — ” he 
stopped and turned red again — “ from any one.” 

Mary was thinking profoundly. She had done Bob a great 
injustice, while he had been blameless. How glad was she 
that she had been able to trust him at last, and wait for the 
explanation. How glad that he did not love Leone Rubioli, 
who was all unworthy of him — yet, poor Miss Rubioli — for 
she certainly loved him — how sad to love hopelessly. Yet it 
might be he did love her — he had not said he did not, only 
denied having cklled her his “Beatrice.” 

This last thought raised her eyes to his again. His temple 


BEATRICE NOT LEONE. 


371 


was resting on the tips of his strong fingers — for he was lean- 
ing with his arm on the table, and he was intently looking at 
her. 

“You understand me, I believe,” he said, in a low, full 
voice, “and now it only remains for me to add, that it is 
yourself, and not Miss Rubioli, who is addressed in these 
fond words, foolishly penned in a moment of uncontrolled 
ardor, lost and anxiously sought for in secret, while they were 
all the time *in your possession, only to bring doubt and 
misery between us.” 

He took down his hand and sat erect. 

One startled look, and the beautiful face was shielded by a 
white, protecting hand, raised like his had been to her brow, 
while she now leaned on the table. He could see but little 
of a very rosy face, a trembling mouth, and a heaving bosom. 
His soul was in his eyes, but she did not see it. 

“ Beloved, will you give yourself to me? ’T is needless I 
should repeat the tale of my love.” 

She took her hand down and slowly raised her starry eyes 
to his — only an instant, till they fell again ; her lips moved 
as if she would speak, but no words came. 

“ I am not a patient man, Mary.” 

She put out her hand, saying : 

“Yes, I love you, and I am not afraid.” 

There was no longer any distance between them, for he 
had her in his hungry bosom, kissing her sweet, blushing face, 
as he murmured, 

“ My Beatrice has made me ‘ very happy.’ ” 

“Don’t, please, Mr. Dean — never, never call me that.” 

“You are right, I will not. I will find other sweet words 
to tell my fondness, until I can call you ‘wife.’ Come, 
‘Baby-child,’ let’s go find our mothers.” 


372 


BOB DEAN. 


“Oh! Mr. Dean!” 

“Oh, Miss Lipscomb, why not? I am not ashamed of 
you, are you of me?” 

Their two mothers were planting peas out in the garden. 
They were on opposite sides of a neatly raked bed, stretching 
a line. Mrs. Lipscomb’s back was towards them, but Mrs. 
Dean, rising just as they approached, read Bob’s joy in his 
candid face. She waited, silent. 

“Mother,” said Bob, coming behind Mrs. Lipscomb, who 
was lustily driving her stake into the ground. 

She turned and looked curiously at them a moment, then 
laid a hand on a shoulder of each, and kissed them in turn. 

Mrs. Dean walked straight across the pretty bed, leaving 
clear tracks of her little feet in the yielding loam. 

The four now go back into the house together, and shut 
the door after them. They have shut us out ; but we know 
that peace, and love, and joy are with them. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


“GOD decrees our loves as well as our lives.” 



ND you are as happy as a princess, Jennie? ” 


lx. Tea was over, and Mary was promenading the wide, 
long walk, from porch to front gate, with the little returned 
bride, on the evening of her arrival. It was warm in the 
lighted parlor, and so the two girls came out into the moon- 
light to pour out their hearts to each other. 

“ Yes, indeed ; I never was so happy in my life. Duval is 
always kind and good. He took me everywhere to see every- 


“god decrees our loves,” etc. 373 


thing; but I didn’t care much for them. My pretty things 
were ever so much admired, and people seemed to know in- 
stinctively that we were just married, and of course looked at 
us a great deal. I quite captivated a young lawyer in Gal- 
veston ; but I promised Doctor I would quit flirting if he 
would ; so I gave my admirer the sinister shoulder, on con- 
science.” 

She drew a deep sigh, as if the sacrifice still weighed 
on her mind. 

“Ah, Jennie! the same child. Will you never learn to 
take a serious view of life? ” said Mary, laughing. 

“Oh, yes, indeed; I do think seriously, Mary. That is 
one reason I wanted to come home now. I am so giddy and 
light, I do not want Duval’s people to know me until I grow 
older and wiser ; I am afraid they would ridicule me to him. 
By-and-by we will go to Virginia, when we ’ve grown more 
used to each other.” 

“ What an idea, child ! ” 

“ I know I am all silly, Mary; but you must talk to me a 
great deal, and teach me to be like you ; for, do you know, 
darling, that at one time he came near loving you the best ? 
and I want to learn to be all things that he admires. I ’ll not 
let him know it though, be sure, for it would spoil him. Men 
must be managed, you know.” 

She gave a wise shake to the bewitching little head, and 
hugged Mary in the fulness of her joy ; but she rattled on : 

“ Do you know, I wonder you don’t hate me for taking him 
away from you ? ’ ’ 

“ No, little one ; I could love you for that. We were 
wholly unsuited, and would have been mutually miserable. 
Shall I tell you a secret, Jennie ?” 

She felt herself blush, though they were now in the dusk of 
32 


374 


BOB DEAN. 


a live-oak, where they found a convenient rustic seat, and 
made themselves comfortable to finish their talk. 

“ Oh, you witch ! I know it without being told. I can see 
it in your face — yours and Mr. Bob’s and your mother’s. I 
am glad — so glad, Mary, for he has loved you truly, ever since 
he came — before — before Doctor was shot ; and for a while 
he was so sad and hopeless. I am, oh ! so glad — it has all 
come right. There he comes now, looking for you — and Miss 
Rubioli is with him — poor thing ! I know I ’d go home, if I 
were her ! What a goose she is to think of loving him. Here 
we are, Mr. Dean ! ’ ' 

“ Little madam, your husband has been asking for you, and 
I volunteered to find you.” 

“ I don’t care. He need n’t think I shall always stick right 
by his side ! ” she said, with a show of petulance; but it was 
patent that she was glad he had missed her, and was willing 
to go to him. 

“ Shall I take you to his side just this one time ? Your 
father says he wants you again, too, and I would like to have 
you a little while myself,” said Bob, offering her his free arm. 
“Miss Mary, I shall have to ask you to take Jennie’s hand 
now, if you too will be led in.” 

“No, Miss Mary,” said Leone, releasing his arm; “let 
them go in without us, and we will sit here and talk a little 
while,” and she took the seat Jennie vacated. 

“ Certainly,” said Mary. 

“ What a sweet, pretty little woman is Mrs. Conway.” 

Leone’s eyes followed the two who were walking slowly up 
the moonlit path, in earnest conversation. 

“ What do you think of her husband ?” 

“ He is an intelligent and accomplished gentleman, but 
vain and selfish, and already afraid of his wife, who is a great 


“god decrees our loves,” etc. 375 

deal shrewder than she appears, and much stronger in character 
than he.” 

“Yes; you are right about that. Jennie has a true, good 
woman’s heart, and her flippancy is a habit she will outgrow 
in time.” 

“It is good for her that she intends to rule her own life ; 
he would make a magnificent failure if he should attempt to 
steer their matrimonial barque by his will-power — it would 
strand for want of momentum. ’ ’ 

“ How skilled you are in character-reading. I believe I 
know them scarcely better now than you do. Yet he does 
possess strength in some ways.” 

Mary was thinking of certain incidents of the past winter, 
and remembered he had been sometimes almost too strong for 
her peace of mind. 

“ He admires himself strongly.” 

“And he is persistent in anything he much desires.” 

“ Oh, he is not without his good points ! A splendid-look- 
ing man. I think I never saw a handsomer, as far as mere 
flesh and blood go for beauty. If he had a sterner eye and a 
stronger mouth, I should like to have him sit for my Aga- 
memnon. 

« Oh, he was cast in the mould of Titans : a magnificent man, 

With head and shoulders like a god’s ! ’ ” 

“You have your new picture under way?” 

“Hardly; the outline is sketched. I shall put you in for 
Iphiginea — I think you would make a sublime martyr to 
patriotism or filial love.” 

“ Oh, please no ! I would much prefer to be excused from 
such glory, and be allowed to enjoy happiness in an ordinary 
way. ’ ’ 


376 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Of course. Anybody would ; but that is not saying you 
are incapable of the highest sacrifice a mortal could make, if 
duty should demand it.” 

“I do not know. I should be very certain — convinced 
beyond the possibility of a doubt, that it was duty’s voice 
bidding me, and not that of some syren, born of an inflamed 
imagination or morbid romance — before I ’d move to the 
stake. Of course, we are speaking figuratively, Miss Leone, 
but in truth, I believe many of the grand sacrifices of which 
we read might be dispensed with, and the end better attained 
by a more practical and a kinder method.” 

A silence of some moments followed, and then Leone 
spoke in a hushed, tremulous voice : 

“ I wish you had not said that. Because I want to ask a 
grand sacrifice of you. I want — I will try to tell you — oh, 
Mary Lipscomb, Mr. Dean loves you — I can see it plainly 
enough now — and you love him — but, oh ! not like I love 
him. I have lived only in the hope that he would seek me 
for his own — lived so long on that, that I cannot live without 
it. You know I have heart-disease, Mary. My physician tells 
me it is not organic, but only nervous, and that if my mind 
is at rest, and I am happy, I may live long, and perhaps be 
well once more, but that grief or worry may be fatal to me. 
I feel — I know if I lose him — my only love — loved with the 
fire and passion of my Italian artist blood — I shall die ! Oh, 
life is sweet ! so fair to me, with him. Death is hard for one 
young as I, with wealth and talent and reputation. You have 
not known him long — you can soon forget him. I have loved 
him from my childhood — loved him so fiercely, that it has 
always been a battle with propriety, not to go and lie at his 
feet and plead that he take me up.” 

She dropped on the ground at Mary’s feet, and clung to 


“god decrees our loves/’ etc. 377 


her hands like a drowning creature, while her silken garments 
trailed in the dust. 

“Oh! Miss Rubioli, hush, hush! You must not talk 
so ! ” said Mary, with a deadly fear coming over her. Could 
it be that this woman’s “ fate ” was to come and overshadow 
her life ? Would she “ succeed and miss happiness ” because 
she claimed a heart that belonged to another ? 

“Can you not find it in your heart — your noble woman’s 
heart — to pity me ? Oh, give him up, and he will come to 
me for comfort ; he must — he must — make the sacrifice, and 
you will have your reward ; for if I lose him I will die, and 
sink into perdition !’’ 

“ Miss Rubioli, you do not know what you ask.” She 
paused to pray for strength. “ You do not know how per- 
fectly our hearts are united — he would never consent.” 

“ But you will be firm and strong in your denial of him — 
and my love will compel his in time. It is deep and resist- 
less, and his soul- could not help yielding to the tide. Oh ! 
Mary, you believe in Jesus Christ and his Divine sacrifice — 
He gave himself as a model to His redeemed, they say. I do 
not ask your life to save mine, but only that you give me 
back my love — my love.” 

“ Miss Rubioli, I might be able to give you my life to save 
yours if He were to show me it was my duty — I might be ; 
but your passion is an unholy one — our Father has joined our 
hearts in one, and no one shall put them asunder.” 

She spoke calmly now, and was strong. 

“Oh, do you — can you, deny me? think! I have nothing 
else — no mother — my father never loved anything, for he has 
only a stone in his cruel bosom ; I have lived only for my art 
and my love — if I lose him, my genius will forsake me, for 
he is always my inspiration. Oh, dear woman, have pity on 

f t 

32* 


me. 


378 


BOB DEAN. 


“ Get up and sit beside me.” She raised the prostrate figure, 
and put her arms around her for support. “You are talking 
wildly. God decrees our loves as well as our lives, and we 
may no more put aside the one than the other without 
guilt.” 

Leone lay motionless on her shoulder, scarcely breathing. 
Surely this was a sad paragraph in the first sweet chapter of 
her love life. Could it be her duty to listen to the prayer of 
this bereft heart? Would God will that she should pluck the 
sweet, new blossom of joy from out her soul, that it might 
possibly take root and bloom again about this ruined temple 
— sadly ruined, when its presiding spirit could abjectly crave 
another woman’s lover. Oh, that God would plainly show 
her what to do, and how to give comfort to this poor, once 
proud creature. 

“ Miss Mary, are not you and Miss Leone sitting still too 
long in the night air?” 

It was Bob’s voice, and his hand touched her shoulder and 
cheek. Her impulse was to spring to him, so timely was the 
help his presence brought. 

She put her hand into his, saying, 

“ Yes, it is chill now, and we will go in.” 

She gently raised Leone with her other hand, but was 
frightened at the passive weight of her frail form. 

“Do you feel tired, Miss Leone? Shall we not go in 
now ? ” 

“ Yes, we will go in now.” 

Her voice had a far-off sound — unnatural and weird. 

“ Take my arm, Leone,” said Bob. 

She obeyed, and they went into the broad belt of moon- 
light, and Mary looked at her in suspense. But she was only 
a little whiter and colder than usual — even her eyes were still 
and passive. She raised her head high, and said : 


“god decrees our loves,” etc. 379 

“ I see Dr. and Mrs. Conway at the gate, and will join them 
a little while before going in.” 

Withdrawing her hand from Bob’s arm she walked away 
with firm and queenly tread. 

Bob looked thoughtfully at her a moment, then took Mary 
to the house in silence ; but when he reached the shadow of 
the porch, he took her to his heart, saying : 

“ I heard her last appeal, and your answer, my darling. 
Oh ! how I thank God that you had strength to see that your 
duty to our united hearts is the highest that can ever be laid 
on either of us. Let no other .thought ever come between 
us, Mary.” 


THE END. 





















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